


Infinity

by Mister_Rat



Series: Continuum [5]
Category: Mr. Peabody & Sherman (2014), The Rocky & Bullwinkle Show
Genre: Bodyguard, Childhood Friends, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Family Fluff, Hawaiian Character, Implied Slash, Multi, Organized Crime, Post-Movie(s), Unconventional Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-06
Updated: 2016-01-26
Packaged: 2018-04-25 03:53:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 24,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4945720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mister_Rat/pseuds/Mister_Rat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A forgotten experiment spurs a kidnapping that forces Mr. Peabody to seek backup from very unlikely sources. Rated for language and violence. (On Hiatus)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Machinations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who do you think owns this fantastic movie/cartoon? I would've died happy by now if I owned it.

_Headline: Peabody and Son Repair Falling Sky_

Four eyes—two orange, two brown—flitted to the content below.

_“New York City was sent into a tussle the other night by a series of strange happenings involving the famous canine prodigy Mr. Peabody and his adopted son. While eyewitnesses and reporters alike claim to have seen various figures from history running rampant, a phenomenon attributed to the appearance of a massive hole in the sky, the main highlight was the heartwarming speech a young Sherman Peabody said in defense of his father, who’d been in the process of being taken away by Animal Control.”_

A faint pair of gasps echoed in the dark room.

_Impossible. Could it be?_

The focus on the words intensified.

_“It appeared fortune sided with the young man that night for thanks to a pardon from not just one but three of our past presidents as well as a standing ovation of support from both the historical figures and bystanders, Peabody was granted full release. Celebrations had to wait, however, for the wormhole had increased in its rage and intensity all the while. It took what certain witnesses claim to be a stroke of genius from Sherman for the father/son duo to solve the crisis and save the day.”_

“Hmm...” The petite figure sitting in the red-velvet swivel chair set the newspaper down on the table and observed with utmost scrutiny the shadowy couple seated from across the tabletop, the room’s visibility hiding all but her meditative painted-red lips. “Are you sure?”

A baritone snicker, sounding too much like sharpening knives to be friendly, bounced from the shorter shadow as it held its palms out in faux pleasantry. “Come, come now, my dear, vould my honeybunch and I steer you and _your_ honeybunch wrong?”

One could almost _hear_ Petite’s eyes roll. “Don’t flatter yourself.” A fold of paper later, the news went sliding back to its original sender, who caught it effortlessly. “At least not without keeping your end of the bargain.”

The bantam phantom’s lankier counterpart waved its manicured hand in a dismissive manner, its syrupy contralto voice no more welcoming. “Ov course, dahling! We remember deal down to last period. Though I must admit, this is awfully bold of you two.”

Harsh laughter followed, its source impressed yet incredulous. “Yeah, even _I_ vould think twice before messing with _dis_ guy.”

“Hence the need for an ace in the hole,” at last spoke the sinewy figure standing against Petite’s chair, its voice deep and controlled and confident. Arms over a barrel chest uncrossed to reach into a drawer and take out a glossy picture in full view of the fellow unknowns. “Him.”

A sharp survival knife pointed at the image the moment it touched the desk, the disbelief in its holder’s voice more palpable than blood. “ _Dis_ is ace you two came up with? But he is so small and scrawny! You sure he will do?”

No blade could compare to Petite’s smirk. “Believe us. With him, Peabody will be putty in our hands.”

“So vhy not go _now_ and take him?” Bantam barked, “Get it over with?”

Petite and Sinew shared a long look—then not so much burst into laughter as much as flowed into a haunting symphony of dark giggles and chuckles.

“Oh honey,” Petite gently admonished, “you should know the best things come to those who wait.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we begin.


	2. Bare Necessities

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who recognize the OC used here, this is a separate universe from "Time and Space". Just wanted to try something a little different with the characters here.

Sherman was beside himself.

Not because of the location. Not because of the time either. And not because he wasn't being picked up.

He still went to Susan B. Anthony Elementary School, where his father always waited for him after classes went out. And he was still being picked up, too.

Heck, by a dog no less.

Only the dog waiting for him was _not_ Mr. Peabody.

Right at the curb stood a black motorcycle the same size as his father's moped, a bulky red bag strapped to the back seat. The driver, an ebony Scottish terrier sporting a black leather jacket and gloves, a red helmet, and a pair of dark sunglasses, pulled out a notecard and read it, murmuring what Sherman recognized as the address of this school, the dog's 'moustache' bouncing in rhythm with his moving lips, before tucking it back where he got it. His face tilted downward at the boy, glasses never revealing his eyes while one thick grey brow raised and the other dipped.

"You Sherman?"

His voice registered at a deep baritone, not menacing per say but the blunt tone gave it an edge that advised against crossing him, so hardly any wonder Sherman hesitated to answer. In considering his options, he decided he'd be safe at this distance and with all these witnesses, so nodded, a gesture the canine biker reciprocated with a satisfied hum.

"Then that means I'm off to a good start with this. Your old man hired me to get you home today."

All the kids watching this, Sherman's friends included, whispered in curious tones. Even some of the parents picking up their own children regarded the newcomer with confusion, so used to the sight of a white beagle on his little red moped.

As for Sherman himself, the more he looked at the biker dog, the more...familiar he seemed. Not familiar as in the sense they'd met before, more familiar in the sense that he'd seen him before...

"Oh and why's that, may I ask?" Penny demanded with a scowl and crossed arms, not too thrown off at seeing another walking talking dog to be suspicious. Jill and Abby followed her lead while Mason and Carl moved closer to Sherman, ready to pull their friend away in case the stranger tried anything.

None of these gestures went overlooked by Sherman, appreciative everyone was banding together for his sake.

After the WABAC incident, a few rough bumps arose between the six children at first due to Sherman and Penny's initial encounter. Mason and Carl did not forgive Penny immediately and Abby and Jill viewed the new friendship between their best friend and her ex-victim with skepticism. However, as the school year went on and the children got to know each other better, they started to put aside their differences and accepted the idea of being friends more easily.

The mystery dog did not seem fazed at all by any of the children's attitudes but rather understanding as he flicked a nod at Penny. "Can't say I blame you for the skepticism."

He reached into the left breast pocket of his jacket to produce a navy-blue cellphone, taking a moment to fiddle around with the screen until he found what he needed, and handed it to Sherman. "Here's my contact list so he can tell ya himself."

Sherman took the phone and checked, his friends trying to look over his shoulder all at once, an attempt that would have caused the boy to tip over if not for his developing sense of balance. Thank goodness for Mr. Patanjali's yoga lessons.

 _'Yep, that's his cell number alright.'_ Just to make sure, he tapped the number and put the phone to his ear, waiting for his father's voice to come up.

"Hello, Peabody speaking."

"Mr. Peabody?" A bit of surprise tinged Sherman's tone. _'So this guy_ was _telling the truth!'_

"Ah, Sherman!" The relief in his father's voice was intense despite the calm tone. "I take it from your calling at this hour that your bodyguard arrived right on schedule."

 _Bodyguard_.

The word rankled through Sherman's mind for reasons the boy did not feel ready to analyze. Something about his father knowing about this unnerved him more than being picked up by a stranger did. "That depends." He took a moment to eye the Harley Davison canine. "Is he a big dog biker with black fur?"

"Yes, his name is Mr. Jameson and I suggest you treat him with the same respect you give me, if you please."

 _'Mr. James—Wait, I think I know that name...'_ His father mentioned it before, but Sherman withheld all inquiries for the time being, figuring it would be easier to ask Jameson himself and gain clarification from Peabody later on.

"Okay, but why is he here? Why couldn't _you_ pick me up today?"

A weary sigh echoed on Peabody's end, one Sherman could not help but decipher as resigned. "Some things have come up. I'm not certain yet of their meaning or if they're even true, but they've left me worried for your safety. That's why I'm discussing a few matters with an old friend of mine as we speak, and also why I couldn't come today." His tone shifted into empathy. "This is just a temporary precaution, rest assured."

On the contrary, Sherman felt anything _but_ assured, a shadow of fear casting over his face. What sort of 'things' was Mr. Peabody talking about? A precaution for what?

Unless—a bone-chilling thought pierced the child where he stood, his eyes wide in epiphany. "Mr. Peabody, is someone..."

"As I said, I'm not certain yet," the beagle gently asserted before his voice strengthened in sureness. "Mr. Jameson won't let anyone hurt you nor will _he_ hurt you. He may seem intimidating but he's the gentlest spirit you'll ever meet, and until I return home he's going to watch over you, understand?"

Sherman resisted the urge to bite his bottom lip. His voice still came out choked as his grip on the phone tightened. "I...I understand, Mr. Peabody. You'll be home soon, right?"

"Of course. I have to go, but I...," a light sigh, "I love you."

"I love you, too," Sherman murmured back, managing a meek smile before the connection cut off. When he turned to face his friends, all of whom appeared apprehensive at what they'd just overheard, Penny stepped forward with a concerned frown.

"Sherman, what's going on?"

Sherman shook his head, brows furrowed from the gravity of now. "I'm not sure, but whatever it is, it's serious. I have to get home, Penny." He gave her a firm hug, one the blonde returned, then waved goodbye to the rest of his friends and departed for the motorcycle. Not once did the determined boy take his eyes off the others.

"I'll call you guys as soon as I figure out what's going on."

"You better."

Sherman smiled at Penny's playful demand before hopping in the sidecar and placing the helmet Mr. Jameson handed him on his head, making sure to strap it on tight. No idea how this guy drove, after all. A crank of the handles later, they were off, taking the same route Mr. Peabody would much to Sherman's relief.

 _'At least this isn't a_ complete _change in routine.'_

* * *

 

_'What a complete change in routine.'_

A small white bespectacled dog gazed out the tall windows of his office, arms behind his back as his reflection returned his grim countenance.

His emerald eyes shifted to the sticky note he received earlier this morning, its sweet scent and cheery yellow ill-fitting the message it carried in scarlet cursive: _You're an awfully rich man, Peabody. How much would you give for what's most precious to you?_

Oh the desire to growl felt so powerful within him. Who would _dare_ such a threat against him, much less through Sherman? That fact that his colleague from minutes ago had no info on their actual identity did not ease his anxiety.

In his infinite grace, Mr. Peabody found the center he needed to maintain his composure and returned his view to the cityscape.

And yet he still felt off-center.

His 'precaution', his 'security measure.' No matter how he phrased it, he knew he basically put his son's life in someone else's hands. If not for his colleague's insistence and her choice's stubbornness, he would have disregarded the choice in a heartbeat.

Then again, was it fair to count Jameson out so easily?

Only time would tell.

"Let's hope I've made the right choice, Sherman."

* * *

 

Sherman wasn't so sure either.

He kept quiet for the first few turns, eyes wandering everywhere but the rider's seat, the ginger unsure what to say to his escort. Bodyguard or not, Mr. Jameson remained a total stranger, so that 'beside himself' feeling still persisted for Sherman.

 _'Then again, the reverse could be true, too'._ His face softened the more his mind processed the situation. For all Sherman knew, the hulking canine probably felt just as awkward and uncomfortable about this whole deal, which would explain the silence on his end. In that case, the boy turned to the dog and opened his mouth to ask—

"How do you feel about Louis Armstrong?" Jameson quizzed, laidback like a summer day.

"Huh?" the boy stared at his escort in confusion, thrown for a loop that his escort not only beat him to the icebreaker but took the exact same question right out of his mouth without knowing.

Jameson shrugged. "Ya know. Satchmo? Pops? Famous jazz player, inspiration for a certain Disney redox?"

Orange eyes lit up in recognition. "Oh! Yeah, he's a pretty nice guy. My dad and I met him a few times."

The terrier tossed a perplexed glance at his passenger (kind of hard to tell through the glasses) until his eyes lit up the same way as he snapped his left fingers.

"Oh, that's right! You guys have that cool time machine the papers talked about! Anyways, I'm asking cuz I feel like turning on some of his tunes. Wanna make sure my taste in music doesn't send you evacuatin' the vehicle in terror."

Soft laughter escaped Sherman at the quip. At least he couldn't say his bodyguard lacked a sense of humor. "I don't mind."

Keeping his eyes on the road, Mr. Jameson pulled out an IPod and handed it to Sherman, instructing the boy on the basic features, mainly the ones that played music. It took little time for Sherman to catch on and soon the bouncy swings of Louie's vocals and accompanying toots and blows reverberated like a jubilant breeze against the hustle-bustle clamor of traffic.

_Look for the bare necessities, the simple bare necessities. Forget about your worries and your strife._

The uplifting music did the trick for Sherman managed to push his concerns to the back of his mind and relax, thankful Jameson chose this song. Maybe this new routine wouldn't be so bad after all. And when a soothing hum could be heard emanating from the canine biker, suddenly the large dog did not seem so scary anymore.

It only got better once the terrier started to sing along—and beautifully at that.

"Look for the bare necessities, Old Mother Nature's recipes that bring the bare necessities of life!" Tap-tap went his right fingers against the handlebar. "Wherever I wander..."

To Sherman's surprise, Jameson gestured to him with a sidelong flourish of the hand.

"...wherever I roam?" the boy squeaked out in uncertainty.

"I couldn't be fonder," Jameson kept on without missing a beat, "of my big home. The bees are buzzing in the trees."

Once again, he motioned Sherman to join.

"To make some honey just for me?"

"And me. Make sure to share," the terrier jokingly added before getting back into the beat, "Cuz the bare necessities of life will come to you."

For the rest of the song, Jameson continued his merry sing-along, continually urging Sherman to join in. It felt strange to the child at first—he'd only done this sort of thing with Mr. Peabody (and that had been years ago), so it felt odd to do with someone he just met—but little by little he found the last of his inhibitions chipping away until he and his companion were going along as if they were longtime buddies.

"I'll tell you something true. The bare necessities of life will come to you," Jameson and Sherman chorused. "They'll come to you. They'll come to you!"

With a final scat and 'oh yes' at the song's finish, Mr. Jameson dropped by the garage of Peabody Industries where he and Sherman boarded off, the terrier making sure to close the door before he forgot. The happy mood still hummed in their minds as the dog, bag over his shoulder, and the boy, hands in his pockets, made their way through the hallways then up the elevator towards the penthouse, passing the time with small talk now that Jameson's little opener proved successful.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Your dad avoided getting beheaded during the French Revolution like _that_?"

"Yeah, for a moment I thought he'd been done for, but Mr. Peabody _always_ finds a way out!"

Jameson rolled his eyes, sincere. "Figures. He could always come up with plans in the blink of an eye." He gently elbowed Sherman. "Well, c'mon. Don't leave me hangin' in suspense, kid. What happened next?"

Sherman happily obliged and by the time his excited recount ended, they'd emerged from the elevator into the penthouse, the afternoon sun hanging just above the tangerine-painted cityscape.

Jameson whistled in amazement at the lavish setting as he deposited his bag next to a nearby coat rack then his jacket and helmet on top of said rack, revealing a dark-blue aloha shirt decorated with white flower prints. He hopped over the back of the extended carmine couch in the living room and got comfortable, thick arms draped over the back.

Curious Sherman peeked around the couch's side and noticed his bodyguard hadn't removed his sunglasses yet. He took a glance at the digital clock on the counter where his father entertained Penny's parents during the WABAC fiasco.

2:17.

 _'Hmm, I could do my homework to pass the time,_ ' his view returned to the slumbering dog, _'or I could try finding out more about Mr. Jameson. It wouldn't hurt since he's gonna be around here for now, and I_ did _promise Penny and the others I'd figure out what's up.'_

With tentative steps he approached the black dog, who lounged with closed eyes, not snoring but not moving either. Not exactly the image of protection, especially with the chubby build and vacation-oriented clothing. Sherman reached a finger out and gingerly prodded Jameson's stomach, trying hard not to giggle at its squishiness.

When Jameson consequently whipped his head in Sherman's direction, the child's nervous yet inquisitive expression viewable in the lenses, his brows furrowed as he adjusted his glasses. "If this is about dinner, the best I can cook is anything involvin' a toaster or microwave."

Sherman waved his hands in haste, "No, no, sir! What I wanna ask is," then sat next to him. "Are you and Mr. Peabody friends? He's told me about you before and he's shown me pictures of you, too," the young ginger looked away in sympathy for a moment, "even when that made him sad. That's pretty much it."

The Hawaiian canine's eyebrows flew up in surprise before his face softened in nostalgia. Sitting up, he finally took off his glasses, revealing orange eyes Sherman found shockingly similar to his own.

"We _used_ to be friends." At Sherman's wince, he speedily backtracked. "It was nothing ugly! We just grew apart. Life, school, and work: it all got in the way."

"I'm sorry."

Jameson softly elbowed him. "Don't be. We've kept tabs on each other over the years...well _he_ has anyway. Plus, it feels good to have him need me again. Haven't felt like that since we were together." Jameson ran a hand through his 'hair', chest bouncing with faint laughter.

 _'Together?'_ Sherman blinked at the word. "You mean you and Mr. Peabody dated?"

Jameson froze in mid-laugh, eyes wide and mouth agape, a comical sight to say the least. _'Me and my big mouth,'_ he griped while his lips, like a goldfish out of water, alternated between open-close-open-close before clamping shut to staunch a sheepish cough.

"Uh yeah," he rubbed his nape before his eyes shifted to Sherman, wary like a raccoon unsure about whether some scraps weren't poisoned. "We went out a few times as teens."

Sherman tilted his head, not taken back yet interested. He was already aware of such relationships thanks to the footnotes Peabody had about different historical figures.

"There's no rule that says guys can't take each other out," the terrier asserted, tensing as if he feared Sherman would bite him. "I...hope you're not upset by that. I know he's courted a few women over the years so—"

"It doesn't bother me, really." At the dog's look of relief, Sherman rubbed his left arm, pensive. "But...I guess I have been kinda hoping lately Mr. Peabody would find someone."

The connotation of those words, registering in his head, caused Sherman to panic at Jameson's possible interpretation. "N-Not that I would've wanted Mr. Peabody to settle for just anybody! I don't want him or someone else being miserable because of me! And if he _did_ fall in love with someone, I wouldn't mind what their gender was as long as they made him—"

A strong gentle hand tousled his hair until it almost resembled waves, hushing his fervent words and making the boy relax instantly.

"Easy there, I get it," Jameson replied in a soothing tone, his smile genuine and soon relieved when Sherman returned it. "You're a good kid," he murmured, silently adding to himself, _'I'm starting to feel glad I got this job.'_

**_DING!_ **

Oh, the elevator!

Sherman, with a joyous cry of "Mr. Peabody", hopped from the couch and dashed toward the sound, anxious to see his father. Jameson was right on his heels, chuckling despite his efforts to catch up. "Ha, ha, slow down! I'm a dog, not a hedgehog!"

By the time the terrier caught up, Sherman was already trapping his father in an eager hug, the beagle nearly knocked off his feet by his son's belied strength. Rather than asking the child to lighten his hold, Peabody returned the embrace instead.

 _'Hard to blame Sherman for his behavior,'_ Peabody thought, ' _considering what sort of anxiety the news invoked in him.'_

Jameson barely had a second to catch his breath before two green eyes landed on him from over Sherman's shoulder, their sudden sharpness piercing the Hawaiian where he stood.

_Papa Wolf._

He had seen that phrase so many times on TV Tropes, Jameson could recite the definition with pinpoint accuracy. But sweet ancestors, it would've been nice to find a blog full of comments from people who received stares like this because he felt like those eyes were judging him, ready to burn holes through him at the slightest misstep.

Because he knew what Peabody was capable of; he knew how easily Peabody could destroy him—physically, psychologically, socially, financially—how at the drop of a hat that dog could render his whole life miserable.

All for the sake of protecting one little boy.

Whatever Peabody intended to strike in him with that look, though, Jameson doubted this weird icky feeling of green was it.

No, not disgust.

Jealousy.

For the life of him, Jameson could not understand why, much less the cause of it. And watching those much-more-pleasant-shade-of-green eyes melt into something bordering on pity, he could tell Peabody noticed it as well.

 _'I can't let the kid see me like this.'_ Jameson plastered on a friendly smile, one he knew would never be enough to erase the ickiness, and gave a wave that felt just as forced.

"Hey, Peabs. How was the office?"

Peabody cleared his throat and gently pried Sherman off before addressing his fellow dog. "Eventful. I hope the two of you have been getting along well," his face became concerned, "Nothing has come up in my absence, has there?"

Sherman took the reins of the conversation. "Nope! Everything's fine, Mr. Peabody! Mr. Jameson's been real nice to me! We even sang that song Mr. Louie taught me!" He shot his buck-toothed grin to his bodyguard. "Right, Mr. Jameson?"

 _That_ part got Peabody's attention, more specifically on Jameson, the beagle's surprised face full of the phrase 'You don't say?'

The burly black dog broke eye contact, twiddling his thumbs as if he were back in second grade, called on by the teacher to present his speech.

"Um, I just figured it would help the kid relax. He was kinda on edge when we met, not that I blame him." He risked a glance at Peabody then looked away again. "You said over the phone to be careful with the kind of music I play around Sherman and Louie's got some of the most G-rated music I know, so—"

A tiny snowy paw touching his left shoulder cut the ramble off, Jameson melting at the touch and more so at Peabody's sudden proximity and placating smile.

"I believe you," Peabody murmured before stepping back with a curt hem. "Now then, I have a business call to tend to back in my office," he tossed a glance to Jameson before departing, "You're free to leave now."

Some steps into the hallway, however, Peabody sensed something was off and so turned around to discover not only Jameson but also Sherman never moved from their spots, the terrier crossing his arms in annoyance while the boy's face contorted in confusion.

"You mean he's not staying Mr. Peabody?"

The white dog's brow perked as if Sherman just stated the obvious. "Yes, I said he'd watch over you until I came home; there's no more need for him to stay. Besides, there'll be other times we'll call on his assistance."

A disappointed sigh flowed out of Jameson. "C'mon, PB, I know you don't trust me around Sherman and, considering my record, I can see where you're comin' from." He tapped a finger to his own head. "Use that big brain of yours, though, and think: where would I be more effective? Hitching a ride from my apartment, which is some miles away, to here and back or staying here where I can keep an eye on things?"

Sherman nodded with a resolute gaze. "Yeah, if someone's after me, then Mr. Jameson's gotta be here to act at a moment's notice! Isn't that how being a bodyguard is supposed to work?"

When Peabody opened his mouth to retort, he realized by the expressions of both the boy and the terrier that neither would budge on the matter. With a heavy sigh, the beagle rubbed his eyes. "I suppose that _would_ be more efficient."

He regained his professional persona and pointed his right paw down the hall. "Very well. Sherman, would you please show Mr. Jameson our spare guest room?"

Grinning in approval, the boy happily obeyed. "Right! Mr. Jameson, this way please!"

"Lead the way, kid," Jameson responded as he picked up his bag then followed his little guide. No need to look back to know Peabody was watching his every move, a fact that only fortified the terrier's resolve.

_'You won't regret this, buddy. I promise.'_

No one noticed eight tiny mechanized eyes hidden amongst the books...

* * *

 

_See, honey? I told you that spider-bot would come in handy._

_Tone down the ego, Stark Jr. Still, wow! The famous Mr. Peabody's dated men_ and _women. Who'd of thought it?_

_Doesn't surprise me. That dog always struck me as the open-minded type. Did you see how Peabody reacted though when Jameson argued against leaving? He obviously doesn't feel comfortable leaving Sherman alone with him._

_Hmm, he doesn't. This could prove useful._

_Speaking of useful, our so-called 'friends' just called. They sounded pretty damn antsy._

_Oh don't worry your pretty head, hun. Those two will get the signal_ very _soon. In the meantime, I've got a little 'surprise' in store for Peabody._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've done bromance before, but not for Peabody, so bear with me on this. By the way, the Mr. Peabody and Sherman Show is finally out, hallelujah!


	3. Way Back When

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mr. Peabody: Hello everyone! Peabody here! For those of you wondering why Scruff is not here, the poor boy's currently recovering from his midterms, so—
> 
> Sherman: Let's get started, everybody!
> 
> Mr. Peabody: Ah, Sherman. Aren't you forgetting something?
> 
> Sherman: Oh right! Scruff only owns Mr. Jameson and whoever else he came up with. Everyone else, including me and Mr. Peabody, belong to Mr. Ward, Mr. Key, and DreamWorks.
> 
> Mr. Peabody: Good boy! On with the story!

"Here's your room, Mr. Jameson!" Sherman stated, giving a bow like a miniature butler as his guardian strolled in and took a look around.

As far as 'spare guest rooms' went, this one had real style: spacious, panoramic windows that occupied the side opposite from the dark oak door, white walls and ceiling, a beige and golden king-sized bed complete with too many pillows and blankets to name, a nightstand on its left with a cube-styled lamp on top, and a polished oak floor.

 _'Swank! Then again what else do I expect from the smartest guy in the world?'_ Jameson tossed the bag onto the bed before hopping on rear-first himself, testing the bounciness, and noticed the huge flat-screen TV in the wall facing him, wondering the number of channels he could flicker through under a minute.

"Make yourself at home!" Sherman suggested before turning to leave, "I gotta call some of my friends first so they know what's up; I also got some homework, but feel free to call if you need anything! Mr. Peabody usually starts dinner at around four, so be sure to check with him first if you've got any allergies he should know about."

Oh yeah, that kid was definitely Peabody's son, mused Jameson as he nodded in gratitude at all this thoughtfulness. His ear suddenly perked up. "Hey Sherman! Could ya do your call _and_ your schoolwork here? That way, your friends know I'm ain't holdin' ya hostage and your dad knows I'm doin' my job."

Despite the dog's witty tone, the child eyed him in puzzlement before thumbing at the hall behind him. "I'm just going to be in my room. It's not far."

His bodyguard opened his mouth as if to counter, only to think better of the action and sheepishly rub the back of his head instead. "Ah, just my natural instincts kickin' in. I'm always like this whenever I gotta look after kids."

 _'So he's done this before. Huh, good to know!'_ Comforted by this knowledge, Sherman shrugged his shoulders. "That's okay. I can do my call and assignments in here if it'll make you feel better."

Jameson's frown upturned. "Thanks, kid. And thanks for being cool with your dad and me being cool, too."

Sherman returned the smile. "Sure thing, Mr. J!" When he noticed the terrier's curious smirk, he could not help feeling bashful, hands behind him. "You didn't seem like the type to want me using your full last name like Mr. Peabody. Is that okay?"

"Call me 'stinky poo-poo man' for all I care," the black dog quipped, mentally tallying a victory at Sherman's returning grin and poorly restrained snort, "But seriously, Mr. J is cool by me. You can even call me Keanu if ya want. That's _Kay-a-noo,_ by the way, just in case your dad never told you my first name."

"Not _Key-a-noo,"_ Sherman added with pride. "I know. Mr. Peabody told me years ago, although it might be best if you don't know how I pronounced it back then."

A hearty chuckle emitted from Jameson at this admittance. "I'll keep that in mind, kiddo! Oh, but before ya go get your stuff, could ya show me where you keep the paint and covers around here?"

* * *

 

"What would this...'Eris' ultimately gain from taking Sherman?"

Peabody shifted his view from the sticky note, the same one from earlier, in his right paw to the Polynesian woman displayed in his crimson laptop's video-chat screen, her magenta business dress adding to the reticence set by her square features and ebony pixie-cut.

"I'm not sure," she replied in a resonant voice, pointing a purple pen at the canine, "but one thing's obvious: she gets Sherman, she gets you—more specifically, your brainpower. People like her aren't mere villains, Peabody; she lives for chaos. No one's ever seen her face or heard her real voice, but she's always felt."

"Yes," Peabody deepened his frown, "and I've heard even 'Eris' is only her cover-up. It's no wonder you have no info on her identity."

Pearl nodded. "She's never been caught either, let alone arrested. Wherever she strikes, there's no evidence of her being there besides little tidbits or hints meant to mock or intimidate."

 _'I feared as much,'_ Peabody thought, blanching at how this 'Eris' managed to slip into his company undetected. His secretary had been the one to give him the note, the young woman stating someone at the front desk found it earlier but never saw who left it.

How easily could someone that cunning come into his home and take away Sherman?

"The sticky note is oddly straightforward of her, though," Pearl continued in a mystified tone, tapping the pen against her cheek, an old habit from college. "Usually it's something fancy like a playing card or rose. I only recognized who wrote _this_ because of the perfume."

Peabody hummed affirmatively, nose wrinkling at the inappropriately sweet scent. Bittersweet scoffs escaped the dog's throat, faint yet rueful. "I figured it would only be a matter of time. Even without my vast wealth and power," his grip on the note tightened, "this is what I must pay for my existence."

Despite the lowered volume of the dog's voice, Pearl still heard him. Her ebony-iris eyes softened in pity. "So you're going to give into her demands just like that?"

The dog glared at her as if insulted. "Hmph, you of all people should know that I'm anything _but_ the type to 'give in'. If this _madam_ wishes to play hardball, I will gladly return the pitch."

His colleague rolled her eyes, hardly surprised. "I figured you'd say something to that effect." And with a pun, no less. "That still leaves the issue of your blindside. As dedicated of a father as you are, even _you_ have to admit the two of you can't stay together 24/7. She and her people know that too, and will gladly jump on any opportunity to take Sherman."

Peabody angled his head in a challenging manner. "It sounds as if you are suggesting Sherman's protection requires more than a mere bodyguard."

" _Exactly_ what I'm suggesting. You need someone who's a wildcard, someone who can keep your son safe _and_ his potential kidnappers guessing. Someone who's proactive in what they do, not reactive. That's why I recommended Jameson."

If not for the realness of the situation, Peabody would have sneered at the thought of someone else protecting his boy. Who was the one who kept Sherman safe all these years, who risked his own life—and arose victorious time and time again—to keep Sherman out of harm's way?

And yet...would that be enough?

Let's face facts: Eris was no pushover. Peabody had seen her handiwork and its aftereffects—in the news, with his own eyes— read enough to understand how deep her ruthlessness and deviousness ran. And with Sherman as her target, her _bait_ if Pearl's words were true _—_ the beagle shook his head.

_'This is no time for hubris, especially since the choice had ultimately been mine in the first place.'_

"Yes," Peabody stuck the note back on his desk, right next to his beloved edition of _The Republic,_ "how convenient he and I were already reacquainted prior to this situation, much less he was on hand so easily."

Pearl's thick rectangular eyebrows perked. "Being a bodyguard's not exactly a 9 to 4 job. It _is_ convenient but that's the beauty in employing him. On the outside, he looks like a slouch; when times get tough is when he _really_ shines. That's why he's among the best I know, and this is coming from someone with high standards."

Peabody set his jaw, still unbelieving. "Whether or not he lives up to _my_ standards remains to be seen."

"You still don't trust him?"

The stark silence said everything.

At last, Pearl sighed in concession, knowing better than to push the dog. "Alright, this is your son and your call. I'll come by your penthouse in twenty minutes to set up those security upgrades. Call me if anything else comes up. Later."

Peabody nodded in return, green eyes silently thanking Pearl for her empathy. "I will. Goodbye."

After the chat window went black, the reflection within returning his somber stare, Peabody shut down the computer then leaned back in his office chair, rotating until he faced the cityscape view of his study. Late afternoon light filtered through the tall windows, painting the space and its occupant with tints of orange and red.

Orange. Red.

Sherman. Jameson.

A pang of guilt bit at Peabody, making him frown. Even after all the years they'd been apart, he knew Jameson remained as loyal and dependable as ever, which made the beagle question his hesitation to fully trust the other dog.

Fighting back a lump in his throat, the prodigy hopped out of his chair and left his office, intent on reaching his newest tenant's quarters to assure himself. Jameson did not lead life as a double agent; his periodic correspondence with Peabody over the years affirmed that fact.

_'Besides, I saw his record prior to hiring him. Pearl wouldn't have convinced me to give him the job if she knew for certain this would end in disaster.'_

Still, could an old childhood friendship justify putting his faith in him?

As he trailed down the hall towards his destination, Peabody reflected back on simpler times, when he only knew brick walls and loneliness...

* * *

 

 _Ears perking and nose twitching, a tiny bipedal ivory puppy wearing huge black-edged glasses looked up from his page of_ _The Republic_ _at the sound of a door opening._

_"It's okay, little guy, it's okay," the familiar demure voice of Miss Richie, the thickset brunette owner of this shelter, gingerly echoed in the silence of slumbering dogs, some of which woke up at a sudden new smell, the same one the bespectacled puppy caught._

_A sniffle followed Miss Richie's assurance, and perhaps a whimper? All the beagle knew was that once the owner and her company turned down the corner, he marveled at how he hadn't fainted straight away._

_Another puppy (a thickset black-furred Scottish terrier, to be exact) walked—yes walked—beside the young average-dressed woman and wore a palm-tree laden cerise shirt that made Peabody want to roll his eyes._

_'Who on Earth gave him that article of clothing? It looks ridiculous!'_

_Still, fashion sense aside, the beagle inwardly rejoiced at the prospect of having someone like him around, someone who might understand his position and relate with his aspirations._

_Perhaps this fellow even shared his interests!_

_Gently setting his book down so as not to startle anyone with any sudden noise, the ivory-furred prodigy drew a polite smile as the cage next to his opened, courtesy of Miss Richie, and the new dog stepped in with heavy steps._

_Once Miss Richie closed the cage, she leaned down to her knees and offered a sad yet hopeful smile. "It's really unfair this ended up happening to you. But you wanna know something?" She waited for the puppy to lift his watery eyes to her. "I think you and Peabody here are going to make great friends. You'll see."_

_And with those words, she left, inadvertently leaving Peabody beside himself._

_Despite his previous anticipation, the beagle could not overlook the heartbreaking sounds still emanating from the other dog rocking himself in an upright fetal position. He almost flinched the moment the newcomer confusedly turned his head away and noticed him, amber irises meeting Peabody's green ones like earth to grass, especially since the terrier towered over him by half a head._

_For a few moments, the two dogs stared at each other curiously, fascinated by the other yet unsure how to initiate conversation._

_Eventually the beagle tired of the silence and spoke up in his cultured yet somewhat squeaky voice. "Hello, my name is Peabody. Hector Peabody. A pleasure to meet you," he stuck out a tiny forepaw between the bars, "And you are...?"_

_For a moment, the black puppy stared at the extended extremity then its owner and back, worrying Hector for a moment, before tentatively taking the paw in his own slightly larger one and shaking it._

_"K-Keanu Jameson," he spoke in a somewhat lower-pitched voice, still shaky from crying. Once their handshake ended, Keanu took his own hand back and wrapped it back around his legs._

_Peabody hummed thoughtfully, head sloped in curiosity. "Keanu? Interesting name. Where are you from exactly?"_

_A good question to start with for Keanu wiped his tears away and spoke more clearly. "Hawaii. My parents and I were visiting my uncle here until...," he turned away with downcast eyes heavy from not only sorrow this time but some anger as well,"...until bad people shot 'em."_

_His voice hiccupped before regaining itself. "I've got nobody back home who'd wanna take care of me and the people here couldn't put me in an orphanage because I'm different, so they brought me here. My mommy's brother is supposed to pick me up next week, so I won't hafta worry about someone else adopting me."_

_Hector's tail drooped in sympathy. "Oh...I see."_

_Though his heart rang out for his fellow canine, he himself yearned for a family of his own and could hardly imagine the pain of losing one he already had._

_Still, something had to be done._

_'Perhaps the mood will lighten with a change in topics.'_ _Peabody pushed his glasses back against his nose with a practiced smile. "Tell me, what is Hawaii like? From what I've seen in the books I've borrowed from the libraries, it's quite beautiful."_

_Luckily the mention of the island made a smile pop up on Keanu's muzzle—a faint smile but hey it counted as progress in Peabody's book (and Peabody loved progress)._

_"It's really pretty...and way warmer than here, that's for sure. Mommy and Daddy would always take me down to the beach so I could play around in the water and make sandcastles all day. And when we had ta go home, we'd all get snow-cones. I always got cherry and—"_

_A faint snort escaped Hector before he could stop himself, making Keanu pause and stare at him weirdly._

_"What's so funny?"_

_"Oh I apologize," the white puppy hastily assured in hopes he had not crossed a line, "It's just...you seem to be quite fond of the color red."_

_Keanu blushed under his thick fur and tried in vain to hide his growing smile. Something about this other puppy really drew him in and made every trouble seem far away. He couldn't for the life of him discern that 'something', but he could live with that._

_Screwing his face up in confusion, the black pup cocked his head and pointed a chubby finger at the smaller dog's neck. "I could say the same about you, too."_

_Holding back another chortle, Hector rolled his eyes in faux offense. "Oh come now, this is just my bowtie, a part of my ensemble," he self-consciously straightened the red accessory in a serious manner, although his size and voice ruined the effect, "Perfectly appropriate. At least I don't wear the color like a traffic light."_

_Keanu shrugged, still lost. "I like my clothes to match my personality. What's wrong with that?"_

_"Oh nothing, if you prefer self-branding yourself as a lost tourist."_

_That statement got the terrier looking down at his shirt before casting an even more baffled stare at the snowy puppy, "I don't get it."_

_Before Hector would explain, harsh barking suddenly rang out around the boys. Sure enough a glance revealed several of the surrounding dogs either barking or glaring balefully at the kids, basically the canine way of saying_ 'Shut the freak up! We're trying to sleep here!'

_Despite his humored grin, Hector bowed his head in meek apology while he watched Keanu blow a raspberry at their 'neighbors', much to the prodigy puppy's relief. His associate finally seemed to be regaining his spirit._

_Speaking of whom, Keanu turned to Hector with a happy grin. "Hey Hector, you wanna hang out tomorrow?"_

_Wait, what? Hector angled his head with a befuddled countenance, not sure if he heard right. "Hang out?"_

_"Yeah, hang out, you and me," affirmed Keanu, nodding as he thumbed to the pup then himself, tail wagging, "I like you."_

_Incredible. Simply incredible. The beagle needed a moment to himself. He never had anyone associate with him, let alone freely. The dogs tended to be friendly enough and Ms. Richie showed him great amounts of kindness but never did anyone want to be around him because they _liked_ him._

_'Can I trust this fellow? I barely know him.'_

_And yet something about this Keanu spoke to him. While he didn't seem like the intellectual type, he possessed a vivacity Peabody instantly found contagious._

_'I'll let him associate with me for now. Besides, having this character around should prove quite interesting.'_

_With an agreeable smile, Peabody readjusted his glasses. "I have a warm regard for you as well."_

* * *

 

A soft melancholy smile took over that same beagle's face as his mind glanced upon the last twenty-odd years.

Oh the memories they shared: the birthdays and pretend adventures amongst the trees of Central Park and Wave Hill, the visits to Harvard Keanu and Miss Richie would pay Peabody on the weekdays, Saturday and Sunday mornings and nights under the same blanket, whispering their plans for the future, their lifelong dreams the only reality they needed to know.

Peabody's smile wilted at the memory of their last words before the beagle's journey overseas.

_'Don't forget us, okay?'_

_'You have my word.'_

Peabody put a hand to his heavy heart. "My word..."

"Mr. Peabody! _Mr. Peabody!_ "

Stiffening at the familiar shout and assuming the worst, the ivory dog dashed towards the guest room. If Jameson so much as plucked a hair off Sherman's head—Peabody found himself in the open doorway, his grip on the jamb fierce, his breathing even more so.

"Sherman, is everything alright?!"

With his dad now right in his face, Sherman needed a moment to back up from the doorway and register the man's agitated state. Even Jameson, who stood in the corner of the room shirtless with a red-spattered paintbrush in his left hand, stopped whatever he was doing to stare at Peabody in likewise concern.

"I'm...fine," Sherman answered at a slow pace, angling his head at his father worriedly, "Are _you_ alright?"

Realizing his current state, Peabody hastily placed his hands behind his back to regain self-control. "Yes, I'm just fine, Sherman. I see you've already started on your homework," he noted with a hint of pride at the bundle of papers and backpack on the bed. It always did him good to see his son stay on top of his academics.

However, he questioned the presence of the cellphone also there, and could not help balking at Jameson's discarded aloha shirt and open bag full of perfectly wearable clothes. Even though the islander _was_ covered in fur, Peabody could not help view the lack of clothing—and in front of _Sherman_ of all people—as highly unprofessional.

His thoughts cuff off when Sherman grabbed his paw and proceeded to pull him towards Mr. Jameson.

"Thanks, Mr. Peabody, but that's not why I called you. You gotta come see what Mr. J did!"

 _'Mr. J?'_ As they approached the terrier, Peabody noticed the cellophane wrap crinkling beneath their feet and the buckets of paint standing right next to Jameson, whose fur was spotted with various colors as though inflicted with rainbow chicken pox.

And when he caught sight of his old friend's handiwork, Peabody's eyes nearly popped out!

Despite being a small section, where there was once blank white wall now lay an incomplete yet highly detailed depiction of a tropical beach beneath a starlit evening sky, the heaven's colors stratified like a cake while vibrant palm trees stood tall and proud from rolling gold sands.

 _'Still quite the artist, I see,'_ Peabody tossed his employee a droll smirk. "Couldn't resist, could you?"

Jameson stuck his tongue out at him, unabashed. "What? I thought this room needed some feng shui."

Peabody shook his head, smiling in relief that this goofball at least had the decency to keep Sherman within eyesight. "Just as well," he conceded, hands behind his back once more, "I was planning on having this room redone regardless. It always _did_ strike me as a bit dull."

"Then consider my presence here a _double_ blessing!" Jameson cheered, arms outward, "Now if you'll excuse me, boss, I've got a masterpiece to complete."

Before he could continue his work, a small white paw caught his meaty wrist in a gentle grip. His childish frown did nothing to affect Peabody besides make him chuckle.

"As much as I hate to interrupt an artist at work," the beagle switched his grip from the wrist to the brush, prying it from the terrier's hands and setting it atop an open paint can, "I'm afraid we have other business to tend to today."

"Really, Mr. Peabody?" Sherman chirped in wonder, "where?"

"Now Sherman," Peabody knowingly chuckled and wagged a finger at his son in playful reproach, "you should know better by now than to ask that." His smile widened at his boy's surprise before directing towards Jameson. "Normally I reserve it for the weekend, but since you'll be with us for a while, I figured now would be an appropriate time to introduce you and the WABAC. No pun intended."

The Hawaiian canine almost took a step back in shock, smartly stopping before he backed into the wall of wet paint. "You mean I already get to see your time machine?" His eyes narrowed in sudden caution as he pointed a finger at Peabody. "Whoa, you don't expect me to drive it, do ya cuz I've never driven anything larger than an SUV so—"

His concern halted at Peabody's dismissive wave.

"Rest assured, Sherman and I have that covered," Peabs replied, Sherman nodding in agreement beside him. He gestured a hand to the acrylic polka-dots adorning the larger dog. "As soon as you wash up, we'll be ready to go."

At this point, Sherman was hopping from foot to foot, a redheaded ball of energy. "Wait 'til ya see the WABAC, Mr. Jameson! It's so cool!" With a hop, he motioned his bodyguard to follow. "C'mon, lemme show you where the bathroom is so you can get ready!"

Jameson snorted at the kid's antics. With that sort of encouragement, how could he disappoint? He almost bent down to seal up the open cans and took the brush back until Peabody stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

With one look into those emerald eyes, Jameson understood the unspoken offer; smiling, he promptly nodded and followed Sherman out into the hallway...but not before taking Peabody's hand as he passed, slipping something into it.

And like a summer breeze, the Hawaiian vanished in the blink of an eye, leaving a thoroughly perplexed Peabody to gaze down at his own paw.

What the beagle discovered chilled his blood to the core: the smashed remains of a robotic spider.

Without a word, he pulled out a bright red cellphone from beneath his bowtie. Within seconds, he stood waiting as the hum of the transmitted call echoed against his right ear.

"Hello, Pearl? Make that ten minutes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not too sure if this chapter is up to snuff, but I'll let you folks decide. By the way, you might recognize the flashback as the first scene from "Time and Space", albeit somewhat redone. It was mainly to work in Keanu's personality and because I like to envision his puppy version having Steven Universe's voice.
> 
> What? I like Zach Collison's voicework!
> 
> And thank you, TheLordismyGod, for taking the time to read this! It means a lot!


	4. Bingo!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My lesson for the day: having an outline for your chapters saves you a world of headaches. I only own my original characters and this story.

"You and Mr. Peabody have dated before, right?"

Pearl, dressed in a casual red T-shirt with faded blue jeans and black-and-white sneakers, paused in her typing on Peabody's computer and looked over at Sherman in wonder. She arrived seven minutes ago, per Peabody's brief yet urgent call, to add some 'personal touches' to the penthouse's security system.

_'Lucky for Peabs I know how to navigate the NYC hustle and bustle without a sweat. A little bribery to the cab driver makes for good lubricant, too.'_

Peabody could handle this task himself, but Pearl had more experience in dealing with characters like Eris and their ways of thinking. Besides, the beagle sounded awfully distracted when he stated he needed to 'run some tests in his lab'. Honestly, Pearl could not blame him. The poor guy needed all the info he could get about that spy-bot he mentioned over the phone.

Not that her task ranked any higher in difficulty; only one section in the network required significant attention. The _real_ challenge lay in the upgrade. Though she helped Peabody set up the network in the first place years ago—straight after the acquisition of this penthouse, in fact—the dog made all sorts of changes of his own since then, leaving his Hawaiian colleague and friendly rival to familiarize herself with a new interface.

But hey, who was Pearl Leilani to step down from a challenge?

Engrossed in her work, she hardly noticed Sherman walk in and stand beside her (he'd been walking by after telling Mr. Jameson, busy taking a shower, that Mr. Peabody cancelled today's WABAC trip due to "extenuating circumstances", much to the boy's disappointment), watching the beefy woman work her networking prowess on Mr. Peabody's computer. The boy remained oddly silent throughout the process, an anomaly Pearl decided against pointing out since that action could lead to an emotionally charged conversation.

Not that she didn't care for Sherman. On the contrary, the need for his safety and well-being urged her over here the moment Peabody told her what happened. Working with children simply never was a strong suit of hers.

Still, the boy's sudden interest in others' love lives bemused her, but she wanted to hear Sherman's side first. She leaned back in Peabody's office chair and crossed her arms, face riddled with questions despite its casual facade.

"We have. Why do you ask?"

Cut, clear, and to the point: natural Pearl.

Sherman bit his bottom lip in hesitation, unsure how to word what he wished to share with his patiently waiting sort-of aunt. Eventually, his own silence got to him and before the boy could stop himself he blurted out, "Mr. Peabody's been seeing someone!" Then slapped his hands over his mouth.

No taking _that_ back.

To her credit, Pearl did not do a double take or bat an eye at this news. She instead snorted in amusement, shaking her head, hardly taken back that yet another hopeless romantic sought to attain Peabody's elusive affection.

Don't mistake her feelings for envy. That one date from college convinced her long ago of the incompatibility between her and her furry colleague, even to this day.

However, in the back of her mind, her detective side aroused slight suspicion. If Sherman was telling her of this development now, then that meant it started only recently, perhaps before Peabody received that note.

 _'Hmm.'_ Pearl tilted her head, curious. "How long has he been seeing her?"

"About two weeks," Sherman innocently replied.

And Peabody received that note just today. A bit too small of a time gap to be coincidental in Pearl's opinion. Paranoid probably, but you can never be too safe. Since grilling Sherman with more questions would only unnerve him, Pearl took a moment to study the child's sullen expression. Her head cocked the other way, ebony eyes concerned.

"I take it you're not exactly fond of her."

"Not exactly." Sherman started to pace around the room, hands behind his back in an uncanny resemblance to his dad. "Mr. Peabody and I met her during a walk through Central Park three weeks back and he invited her for coffee with us at a café once. I _kinda_ liked her at first. She's nice and funny and is a smart worker according to Mr. Peabody...but sometimes I feel as if she's too good to be true, like she's hiding something. I don't know how else to explain it."

Wait. Eyes narrowing and body tensing up, Pearl held a hand out to gesture Sherman to pause. "Hang on. How does Peabody know how this lady is as a worker? Did he hire her recently?"

Something clicked in Sherman's orange eyes as the boy slowly looked up in realization. "No. She claims she's a freelance contractor who's working with my dad's company to better her resume." He turned to Pearl, alarmed. "You don't think..."

A serious nod constituted the detective's agreement. "We've got no solid evidence so we can't pin anything on her at this point. However, Peabody _did_ tell me earlier that the lady at the front desk saw no one leave the note that started all this."

"Unless whoever left it _was_ still there, just never told anyone!" Sherman chirped with a 'eureka' grin. Memories of the company's last _Bring Your Kid to Work Day_ flashed through his mind. "That lady—her name's Kayla Connor and she comes over every Monday and Wednesday morning to discuss plans with Mr. Peabody and the rest of the board, and since today's Monday..."

Both child and woman shared a significant gaze.

"Sherman," Pearl nodded with a slight yet impressed grin, "I do believe you're onto something. Do you have any other information on her?"

Sherman put a hand to his chin, deep in thought. "Let's see. She said she's divorced, moved into an apartment just down the street...oh, and she seems to know a lot about robotics from what little I heard from her conversations with Mr. Peabody." He shrugged. "That's all I got. Sorry."

Pearl offered an assuring smile at the apology. This info provided a viable starting point and with Eris and whoever she had for help out there, every bit of evidence could help.

"What matters is that we're closer to finding out what's going on," Pearl asserted as she stood up, "We need to let your dad know so he can keep a better eye on this Connor person—that is, if he isn't already." Then to Sherman's sudden confusion, she gazed up at the door the boy left open and called out in a louder tone of voice, "Isn't that right, Jameson?"

When mumbled cursing echoed from the entrance, out stepped the disgruntled terrier himself, a palm-tree-decorated red shirt Sherman could help but notice him wearing.

"Alright, how 'conspicuous' was I this time?" Jameson finger-quoted.

Pearl tapped her bottom lip in mock consideration. "Mmm, slightly better than last time. Took me three seconds longer to find out your whereabouts."

 _'Big surprise,'_ Jameson mused with a droll eye-roll, ' _she_ always _outdoes me in stealth.'_ A sudden tug on his right hand drew his attention to an attentive Sherman.

"If you're gonna tell Mr. Peabody what you overheard, then why don't we all tell him together?" As far as Sherman reasoned, between the three of them, convincing Peabody would be child's play. Besides, one of them might think up another significant detail in the meantime.

Jameson shared a counseling look with Pearl, who nodded supportively as she shut down the computer and set the chair back under the desk, before redirecting his attention to Sherman and, smiling, flourished a hand to the hallway to suggest 'Lead the way, kid.'

Together the three of them strolled into the hall and towards the kitchen while reviewing what they knew about Kayla and her possible connection to Eris, whose history Sherman needed a bit of a crash course on from Pearl and Jameson. After all, the young man deserved a right to know the identity of his potential kidnapper. Keeping focus on their chat proved difficult due to the smoky smell of food strengthening the closer they drew.

Before long, the gang reached the living room where Peabody could be seen in the kitchen whipping up yet another culinary masterpiece. The moment they appeared, the white beagle tossed a pleased smile over his shoulder at them.

"Ah, Pearl! I take it from your air of satisfaction the upgrade proved a success."

Taking a seat on the couch nearby, his colleague nodded with an affirmative hum and smirk, arms and legs crossed. "Mmm, more or less." Her countenance quickly became grave. "Speaking of which, there's a few concerns we'd like to bring to your attention, mainly about who you're—"

**_Ding!_ **

Everyone's attention drew to the elevator. Peabody offered Pearl an apologetic gaze. "I'm sorry. Could you hold that thought? I'm expecting company."

From Sherman's point of view, Jameson's incredulous look deserved a place in legends.

 _Mind? Uh, the babe you're making greens with is possibly either a world-dominating sociopath or_ in league _with a world-dominating sociopath, so yeah, we totally mind!_

That's what the terrier intended to say and would have succeeded if Pearl, smart to his ways, hadn't dashed over and clamped a hand over his mouth in time. Peabody had already turned away and approached the elevator by then, saving the detective and bodyguard the effort of explaining their strange behavior.

Meanwhile Sherman held his breath in anxiety, schooling his face into a hopefully convincing smile. He had a fair idea who stood in that elevator and only hoped nothing he and his guardians did or said would hint at their suspicions.

Sliding open, the doors revealed a woman in her early thirties with wavy sepia hair tied in a ponytail, warm-toned skin, and dazzling blue eyes. Her medium blue sweater and black corduroy pants added to her slim, big-hipped figure and round face. A friendly grin graced her plush lips before she approached the group, a purple binder cradled against her chest.

"Hello, Mr. Peabody? I'm here to drop off those plans we talked about last week." When she took note of the other three occupants in the room, she blushed with a hand to her mouth. "Oh! Sorry, am I interrupting something? I'll only be here for a few moments."

Peabody held a hand up, eyes closed in guarantee. "Not to worry, Kayla. We were about to have dinner anyway. You're free to join us if you'd like."

A beefy arm draped around Peabody's bony shoulders from out of the blue, courtesy of Jameson, the terrier's grin relaxed and open. In truth, this was his way of throwing Kayla off balance in case the lady decided to pull anything funny.

"Yeah, Peabs here is a natural gourmet." His grip tightened without hurting the smaller dog. "Speaking of which, Gusteau, what's on the menu tonight?"

"Nothing too fancy," the ivory beagle replied as he tried in vain to brush off Jameson's limb, "Just lime cilantro sweet potatoes along with side dishes of chicken salad mixed with seedless grapes, carrots, and my own special brand of dressing of course, and some crab cakes."

Peabody paused to finally take note of the other canine's continued lack of a shirt. "In front of company, really?"

"No offense, Peabody," Kayla carefully interjected before Jameson could retort, "but you wear nothing but a bowtie and glasses most of the time. I don't see any reason to get on your boyfriend's case about being decent."

 _That_ statement received quite a chain-reaction.

Pearl's head jolted down with a snort, the sudden sound startling Sherman and Jameson to the point that the kid jumped back from her with a yelp and the shell-shocked dog ripped his arm away from Peabody as if electrocuted!

_Too someone long enough to point out._

_My dad...and Mr. Jameson...what?_

Jameson had nothing to add to this mental repertoire. What _could_ he add?

Peabody...simply stood there. Eyes wide, mouth a straight firm line, entire body shock-rod still—if not for the lack of ice, you'd think he were cryogenically frozen. No response to the outside world whatsoever, not even when Jameson worriedly waved a hand in his face.

Kayla blinked, both at her business associate's stupor and the reactions of everyone else. Smacking her lips about in self-consciousness, she gingerly took a step forward and handed the binder to Jameson, who accepted it without a word, then started slowly backed away to the elevator.

Now seemed the perfect time for an exit.

"Okay... _I'm_ just gonna go. It was nice meeting you all." Her wave could not have been more awkward. "Mr. Peabody, I apologize in retrospect for any offense my comment may have elicited and I will see you Wednesday! Uh, goodnight!"

And faster than a cat in a dog show, she vamoosed.

While Pearl shook her head and Sherman took the time to puzzle over whatever the heck just happened, Jameson dared a glance at Peabody, who still stood wide-eyed and stone-silent. He almost reached a hand out to shake the smaller dog back to reality, only to think better of that action and rubbed the back of his own head instead.

 _'At least I got a shirt on. Now_ that _would've made things awkward'_ His eyes skimmed the darkening sky. _'Speaking of which, I gotta ask Peabody if he wants to take Sherman to school tomorrow—that is, assuming the big guy's brain is back online by—'_

Jameson started when he felt the binder 'jump' from his hands, which turned out to be Peabody snatching it from him. Without a word, the beagle left for his bedroom, never looking back but pausing long enough to wave a hand at dinner.

"I have to look over Miss Connor's papers. Pearl, could you and Sherman make sure the food is ready to serve? I'd entrust Jameson, too, but I don't have faith in his stomach's willpower."

Under any other circumstance, Jameson would have rolled his eyes at the quip. The terseness in the beagle's behavior worried him, though, and judging by Pearl's and Sherman's countenances, he was not alone in that sentiment.

"Wait, Peabody!" Pearl called out to her colleague, taking a step forward, "That's what I wanted to ask you. Something about Kayla doesn't add up. Sherman, Jameson, and I have been going over the facts and we're worried she might be involved with Eris somehow."

Jameson set his hands akimbo, nodding. "In which case, it might not be a good idea to open that binder by yourself, Peabs. If you hand it over to me, we can—"

Before the terrier could blink, Peabody swiveled around and shot him an icy reproachful stare, one at which everyone else could not help but flinch. "Your job is to protect Sherman," he pointed out in an authoritarian tone, " _not_ me. I am perfectly capable of defending myself against a few pieces of office paper."

Jameson could only blink, taken back by the sudden attitude in his friend. Granted Peabs never seemed peachy about him staying here; at the same time, the beagle never displayed outright severity to him either, not like now.

_'What in the spirits got into him?'_

Sherman looked back and forth between the dogs, equally baffled by his father's behavior and wondering if it had anything to do with Kayla's comment. Was Mr. Peabody _that_ insulted? The young ginger took a meek step towards his father, wanting to say something to ease the tension.

"But you and Mr. Jameson dated before, right? Why should Miss Connor's comment be that big a deal?"

Peabody rubbed his forehead in frustration. His son failed to see the point here; perhaps that was for the best. "I'm sorry, Sherman; this was a mistake. I shouldn't have let Jameson into this house."

What? Everyone else could not help but gasp. Sherman shot a glance to Jameson, whose breath halted and eyes shimmered with hurt, before facing his father with an upset frown, mouth ready to retort.

Until he caught something streak across Peabody's eyes: fear?

No, wait. Yes, Sherman definitely saw fear! And not just any kind; the same variant that possessed the prodigy during the WABAC incident, when Animal Control attempted to take him away per Grunion's command.

Only then did Sherman realize. One deep breath to steel himself, the boy spoke at last. "Mr. Peabody?" He waited for the canine to turn his attention to him before continuing. "You don't trust Kayla either, do you? Are you also scared Mr. Jameson's gonna get hurt because of us?"

When those emerald eyes expanded at Sherman in shock, Pearl gently smiled in understanding.

 _'I see. Peabody isn't acting this way because he doesn't trust Jameson; he's just worried for his friend's safety. If one person could think Jameson is_ that _close with him, then who else would?'_

Even more, who would think that _and_ be willing to take advantage of it?

Sherman placed a hand on his father's shoulder. "You don't have to protect everyone, Mr. Peabody, and you don't have to solve everything alone either." He nodded at the binder. "Whatever's in there, we'll face it together." Then switched his gaze over to Pearl and Jameson. "Right guys?"

Both Hawaiians shared a thoughtful glance, and faced him and Peabody with confident grins.

Pearl crossed her arms over her chest, smirking. "Well we can't let you hog _all_ the fun, can we?"

While Jameson punched into his palm, his entire snout dominated by his eager beam. "They want a piece of me? Fine! Cuz anybody who messes with any of _my_ ohana deals with me first!"

Peabody panned his head to take in everyone's battle-ready expressions, not entirely surprised that his son and old friends were willing to stand by him in this conflict. At last the beagle set the binder under his right arm and rubbed his left temple with his free hand.

"Why must I always attract the stubborn ones?" he murmured, not bothering to hide his growing chortle. "Very well, after dinner, we'll see if we can't find out more on Eris, though I highly doubt we'll find it in this binder. Someone of her caliber would never make such an amateurish mistake."

Pearl shrugged. "Won't know until we look. Now about those crab cakes..."

* * *

 

_The signal has been sent. You two know what to do._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are about to get real.


	5. Gone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I only own my original characters and this story.

Dinner, as per usual, was fantastic.

If only Peabody could say the same for the binder. As he figured, it contained nothing besides the papers Kayla promised. He and Pearl examined, reexamined, and even re- _re_ examined the contents, trying every interpretation their brains could churn out, only to turn up with nothing.

At least Jameson's antics with the food kept Sherman occupied, even though Peabody noted with slight chagrin that the two of them ended up finishing their dinner later than him and Pearl as a result.

Sherman honestly tried his best to make heads and tails of the papers in between food-faces but even for a child of his hardworking caliber and smarts, the jargon and diagrams kept messing up his focus while Jameson took one simple look at the advanced engineering work and shuddered. Hell no, the terrier thought, best to leave this one to the brainiacs.

Eventually Peabody decided to call a night on this search, claiming these papers were "an obvious false lead", a point to which Pearl begrudgingly agreed. If Eris intended to tease them, then mission success.

"For all we know, we probably walked right into her trap ages _before_ she sent that spybot. In which case, we're back to square one," the detective grumbled as she slung her purse over her shoulder and went towards the elevator, Peabody accompanying her while Sherman and Jameson stayed behind in the kitchen.

"Not to worry, Pearl, we merely need to keep our eyes, ears, and minds open. Vigilance is the key! No need to be _crabby,_ after all, ha, ha."

Oh the inevitable facepalm. Pearl shook her head in cringing embarrassment, keeping her hand where it was to avoid looking at the pun-addicted dog. Oy, he had only gotten worse since college. Oh wait, that reminded her. She half-turned to glance over her shoulder right before she entered the elevator.

"Oh. Don't forget to tell Keanu of that party taking place at Templeton Tower tomorrow."

Peabody rolled his eyes. Ah yes, the gala event he and Sherman received invitations to last week. "Oh believe me. It's right near the top of my list. Being subjected to his whining is no way to start a morning."

The whining wasn't what made Pearl worry for Peabody and Sherman's sanity: it was what _else_ that terrier did in the early hours that warranted caution. Then again, considering the prodigy's experience with hyperactive types, there'd probably wouldn't be _too_ much surprise tomorrow.

Clanks and cheers suddenly burst from the kitchen, drawing attention from Peabody and Pearl, the former frowning in confusion at the sound while the latter smiled with empathy at her baffled colleague. When the doors finally slid open, the Hawaiian stepped in and nodded goodbye to Peabody.

"I'll let you take over from here. Night."

"Yes, good night."

Only when the doors shut on Pearl and the revving of the lowering transport faded out did Peabody rub his forehead, mind puzzling over what precautions to undertake for the next day meanwhile, as he made his way back to the kitchen.

 _'That spider proved child's play for me to analyze, even considering the number Keanu did on it, but that's exactly what worries me. Whoever sent it...I can't help but feel they_ meant _for someone to come across it...or perhaps even me.'_

Some sort of test then? If so, then Peabody would gladly rise to the challenge.

 _'But for now, I'd rather call this a night.'_ He cricked his slender neck, eyelids squeezed shut. _'Today's been far too stressful for my liking. I can only imagine what sort of disquiet this has all caused for Sher—'_

"You tear me up when you say you want to take it all away, take it all away-ay-ay-ay-ay! You were the one and it was enough—"

His mind grinded to a halt at the sight of Jameson dancing around the table, a spoon to his mouth as he sang into it like a microphone, belting out the lyrics to an Adam Young song, Sherman beside him doing the same with his own spoon while providing back up lyrics.

"Was enough!"

"To be the one you were dreaming of!"

"Dreaming of!"

Ah. So Pearl meant _this_. Well better now when everyone's still wide awake as opposed to the dead hours of the morning. Plus, as far as vocals go, Jameson wasn't half-bad and neither was Sherman. Peabody bit back a smile at the nonsense unfolding before him. Count on good ol' Keanu to raise a ruckus.

All the same, someone needed to step in and make sure nobody hurt themselves. Taking a step forward, Peabody waited for a spot in the song without lyrics and chose that moment to clear his throat in an audible 'ahem'. Both terrier and boy went stark-still, comically frozen in singing poses, then slowly turned to discover their bemused one-dog audience.

"Mr. Peabody!" Sherman quickly set the spoon back on his nearly finished plate and stood at attention, hands behind his back and face blushing harder than a rose.

Jameson swiveled his body with grace belying his frame, spoon twirling around his fingers like a baton and one hand akimbo, patiently awaiting the other dog's response to the impromptu concert. When Peabody only perked an eyebrow at him, the terrier ceased his spoon-twirling and perked one back.

"Well?" Jameson inquired.

"Well what?" Peabody returned.

"No pun? No smart comment? Not even a lecture on misusing silverware?"

Peabody shook his head, mouth creased. "Mmm no, too easy."

Well, that sent Jameson's jowl dropping, his left eye twitching in half-serious offense.

Chuckling at the reaction, the ivory dog faced his son next with a firm yet kind stare. "While I admire well done vocal work, there remains a rather crucial matter I'd like to discuss with you, Sherman."

"What is it, Mr. Peabody?"

He'd done all his homework for the day while Jameson had been painting the walls then later on in his bedroom during the dog's shower. And unless his father changed his mind about the time trip, Sherman knew this talk would not involve the WABAC. His next guess was the dishes, which posed a high probability since he and Mr. Peabody always handled that chore together.

"Your bedtime, of course!"

Sherman facepalmed. Count on Mr. Peabody to wind you up like that. Still, hard to argue with the hands right on ten o' clock. His surprise yawn, despite his attempts to staunch it, only verified his father's point.

"Th...That's okay, Mr. Peabody. I feel fine."

Jameson chuckled at the kid's behavior. "Sorry, kiddo, but you might wanna consider that ticket to Dreamland. You look as if you're 'bout to go timber."

Sherman, rather than insisting on his ability to stay awake, fell forward, Jameson catching him in the nick of time, much to Peabody's relief.

 _'Oh Sherman,'_ the beagle mused with a tender smile. That boy and his stubbornness. He neared Sherman to shake his shoulder and keep him alert enough to send to the bathroom...only to freeze when Jameson hoisted Sherman up from his reach, the child's spindly legs dangling from the terrier's arms.

A spark of indignation flickered against Peabody's better judgement. That was his son being kept from his reach! What on Earth did Jameson mean to achieve by—his outraged thoughts melted at a sound, a sweet soothing sound.

It took 0.0343 seconds for him to identify Jameson as the source, the hum emanating from the terrier's chest like an invisible wave ebbing in and out, clearing away all doubt and fear. Before Peabody's eyes, Sherman's face softened and become more blissful as the song went on until at last the boy grew still, his breathing low and even, head cradled against the soft shaggy fur of his bodyguard's chest.

That was amazing. That was beautiful.

It was disheartening.

 _'Wait, disheartening?'_ Peabody frowned, writing the thought off as his usual overprotectiveness. Jameson already made clear he would never hurt Sherman, much less allow harm upon him. In which case, Peabody should have been relieved at the ease Sherman felt around his bodyguard, even after just one day.

In fact, he _did_ feel relief...yet somewhere in a distant corner of vast mind, a nagging thought wiggled, tainting his positivity.

_'No! No, you're being ridiculous Peabody! Jameson's probably done this for other children he's looked after as well. Sherman's behavior is perfectly reasonable. Simple proof that Jameson's doing his job.'_

Even if Peabody never managed to send Sherman to sleep that quickly.

The white dog jolted out of his reverie at the feel of a strong furry hand on his shoulder and looked up to discover Jameson's concerned gaze fixed on him, orange eyes piercing into his green ones in search of whatever ailed the smaller canine.

"You better get to bed, too, Peabs." He craned his head to get a better look at his friend's face. "You're lookin' kinda glum."

Peabody once again tried to brush the hand off, but to no avail and so sighed in defeat. "It's nothing serious, Jameson." At least he hoped not. His eyes shifted to Sherman and his lips managed a genuine smile. "I must say, though, he's taken quite a liking to you."

A low chuckle met this observation. "And ta think, this is only the first day. If he's like this every night, I might consider being his bodyguard 24/7." He caught Peabody's blank stare and gently elbowed him, taking care not to jostle Sherman. "Ah bruh, c'mon, I'm just jokin' with you. You know you're Sherman's number one man."

Once again, the thought-worm nicked Peabody yet this time it came accompanied by the sympathy that accosted his hug with Sherman earlier this morning.

Jameson lost his parents at a young age, leaving the pup deprived of loving parents. His uncle, the one who took him in, cared for him enough but the man always had his hands full with work with little time to spend with his nephew.

Had Jameson been looking upon Sherman with jealousy, not just affection?

The thought-worm silenced, reprimanded by guilt, Jameson's continued gaze of concern only worsening the feeling. Peabody grasped the hand on his shoulder tightly.

"Believe me, I know. You still need to make sure you've brushed Sherman's teeth and dressed him up for bed. I can show you where everything is, if you'd like."

Drawing his hand back to scratch the back of his head, Jameson thanked the spirits his fur hid blushes, "Heh, _mahalo_ a ton, buddy," then followed Peabody down the hall to the bathroom. "I kinda overlooked that stuff during my wash-up."

* * *

 

Getting a conked out Sherman ready for bed turned out to be less of a hassle than either dog expected. Before long, the boy lay in his bed with the deep blue blankets to his chin.

With a brief sigh of resolve, Peabody gave his son's forehead a brief kiss, heart swelling at how much this action made Sherman's smile grow. The prodigy took a few moments to admire his beautiful boy before turning around to leave.

He smirked at the sight of Jameson leaning against the threshold of Sherman's room, arms and legs crossed, grinning at this touching scene.

"What?" the terrier whispered with a sugary smirk at his friend's amused stare, backing away into the hall, "Not my fault you two make cavities look like nothin'."

"Oh hush you," Peabody joked at a low volume as he gently shut the door behind him. "You haven't exactly been a paragon of stoicism tonight yourself."

Jameson shrugged. "Just a guy following his heart is all."

"In any case, you've done quite well for your first day," Peabody congratulated, hands behind his back. "I believe you've earned yourself a bit of tea."

That statement earned a dry stare. "You realize any tea I get will mysteriously end up in a potted plant before the night ends, right?" Jameson stuck his tongue out to illustrate his point, the appendage's proximity to Peabody's snout throwing the beagle off center.

Kayla's comment reran down the lanes of the genius's mind.

Regaining himself, Peabody shoved Jameson's face out of his personal bubble and walked off without a word, hands behind his back. The other dog did not take long to catch up, although Peabody's peripherals caught the glint of interest in those orange eyes.

"You feeling okay, Peabs? Cuz when you keep quiet like this, you usually have something big on your mind."

"I'm just a bit worn out, that's all." He noted Jameson's unconvinced worry. "Today's been burdensome, which is saying quite a lot coming from me."

Jameson shook his head and drew his attention away from Peabody. "Alright, I'll believe ya, man," but not without mentally adding (and knowing Peabody knew, too), ' _But don't think you're off the hook yet'._

Some tension flowed out of Peabody. Guilt still nagged him for closing off from his old friend, the future tense in Jameson's words confirming that feeling. However, the beagle felt justified in his reaction. After all, people can change over time yet Jameson remained largely the same as when Peabody last saw him, and without Sherman as a—mediator, conduit, barrier?—the air between them felt loaded, compressed, so many words to say and so much truth to reveal.

And no way to say any of them properly.

 _'Once again I'm bested by my own emotional inadequacies,'_ Peabody lamented with a sad grimace.

"Do ya still think about 'em?"

Peabody eyed Jameson in confusion. "I beg your pardon?"

"Do ya still think about the _hanabata_ days, back when we were kids?"

The snowy canine hummed in affirmation. "From time to time." Those memories held almost as much importance to him as the ones shared with Sherman. "I do hope you realize that achieving the same mental and emotional security from back then is impossible."

"I do. I'm glad for that." Peabody eyed him, curious at the intriguing answer. "I know when it's time to start livin' in reality. But...," he smiled at his friend, "We're back together now; we can start making new memories of our own." His head cocked. "That is, if you'd like."

Peabody chuckled at the offer, flattered. A chance to better know the man that little starry-eyed puppy from years ago became did sound rather nice. He opened his mouth to answer—

_Bump._

Only to turn his head to something unseen down the hall, eyes narrowed, vaguely aware of Jameson copying his actions. Both dogs trained their sensitive ears in case they merely heard an auditory hallucination.

_Bump._

There it was again!

Peabody and Jameson shared a knowing glance and nodded before stealthily making their way towards the living room, their footsteps measured and careful while their minds braced for whatever—or whoever—awaited them, the continuous noise guiding them until they finally reached their destination.

The dining room.

Peabody crossed his arms, remaining quiet to pinpoint the exact source, while Jameson circled the room like a panther, calling on years of patience with investigations alongside Pearl for the perfect chance to strike whoever made the mistake of coming here.

"...mmpff...mmpff..."

Jameson froze, blinking, the same time Peabody furrowed his brows. Did that sound come from the table? There was nothing there except for a vase, the dishes that still needed cleaning, and the trembling binder.

...Wait, what? The dogs took a double-take.

The binder seemed as still as ever. Apprehensive, Jameson reached a finger to poke it, only to jump back with a startled "GAH!" when it started jumping, or at least bumping up and down every few seconds. Peabody reeled his head back with wide eyes, disturbed at the spectacle.

Then as suddenly as the sideshow started, it stopped.

Peabody approached the table with caution while Jameson, eyeing the binder in fear, hunkered down behind a nearby chair. Hands steady, he reached out, took the binder into his hands, and gingerly opened it, ready for a nasty surprise.

Papers.

"Hmph," Peabody huffed at the anticlimax before smiling at Jameson in an assured manner, "our nerves are probably just shot from today. Why don't we follow Sherman's example and just turn in for—"

**_FOOP!_ **

Peabody and Jameson stared.

The pale-skinned head that materialized atop the papers—round and vaguely triangular with black short-cropped hair, a bulbous nose, black hat, and Snidely Whiplash-style moustache—stared back.

"Uh," Round Head resumed silence for a few more moments before breaking the silence with an awkward chuckle, "heh, you are probably wondering what eez goeeng on right now."

Before Peabody could respond, Jameson grabbed the noggin in one hand, ignoring its heated protests, and dashed for the nearest window, throwing it open with the other. Thank goodness Peabody hadn't turned the alarms on yet; otherwise Sherman would have come running in asking what all the commotion was about...not that this madness probably wasn't accomplishing that already.

 _'Either way, the sooner whoever in Barton's oil lamps this character is leaves my apartment, the better. This is all getting too bizarre!'_ Peabody mused as he watched his friend, with the strength of an Amazonian javelin thrower, shoot the head straight into the stratosphere, its hysterical screams receding into the night sky.

The canine pair took a moment to soak in what just happened.

"Well... _that_ was a trip." Jameson clucked his tongue, beside himself, then rubbed his large nose with the back of his left hand, forcing a joking grin. "Definitely gonna enjoy the look on _Pearl's_ face once we tell hear about"-

**WHAM!**

"OW! What the..."

While Jameson rubbed his head mumbling multiple cuss words in Hawaiian, Peabody instantly shot his view down to the projectile responsible.

 _'A thermos? No, this looks more like...'_ Peabody's eyes shot wide in realization, ' _Oh dear...'_

In the space of a second, the beagle snatched the cylinder and chucked it through the open window, much to Jameson's confusion until the ivory dog knocked him to the ground, covering both their eyes just in time for an intense white flash to light up the sky. The second a burst of green smoke followed in the flash's wake, Peabody launched off Jameson and shut the window before the gas could creep in.

While the ivory canine took a few moments to regain his breath, Jameson sat up and shook his head in both disbelief and awe at the emerald vapor dispersing outside. This night was getting crazier by the second! "Okay, I've seen a lot of tricks on the job, but _that's_ a new one!"

"Indeed," Peabody growled, livid eyes visible in his reflection in the glass, "an _extremely_ new one. I only recognized that device because _I'm_ its original designer. It's also clear proof of Kayla's involvement in this."

 _'Kayla? Hang on...'_ His face glaring, Jameson stood up and approached Peabody. "Are you saying you _showed_ her how to make stuff like that?"

Peabody returned the glare, though not at Jameson per say. "No. I only revealed its functions to a few representatives from secret agencies. Even then, I never revealed its inner workings—and I still have the schematics locked away in my lab."

Jameson's eyebrows contorted from the logical shift. "Then how could Kayla know?"

A white paw pointed in the direction of his previous throw. "That scoundrel you threw out exhibited the influence of a shrink ray. One could easily infiltrate an area without detection as long as the sensors either can't account for such sizes or—"

They heard the whistle before they saw the dart. Like poetry in motion, Peabody and Jameson each dove to the side, rolling into alert positions just in time to see a tall human figure in black, a motorcycle helmet hiding their face, standing on top of the table, pointing a tranquilizer gun at our two canine heroes.

Peabody wanted to facepalm right now. "Haven't been switched on yet."

Mystery Person left the genius no time for self-berating for they quickly resumed their assault, forcing the dogs to dodge the hailstorm of darts!

Ah, but Peabody proved no stranger to evasion for he utilized every skill in his dance repertoire to successfully avoid the shots while Jameson, though seeming like an easier target due to his larger size and thicker build, demonstrated as much dexterity in his breakdance-style maneuvers and cheerleader-esque flips.

 _'Hmm, not bad,'_ Peabody admired during a perfectly executed ballet jump, _'I must challenge him to a dance-off sometime.'_

**_Ca-click._ **

That abrupt faint sound stopped all movement. With a perplexed huh, Mystery Person checked their weapon, shaking it. What do you know? No more bullets. Hardly flustered by this setback, the assailant shrugged at their targets.

"Um, can I get a do over?"

PB and J merely gawked at the person's causal tone. This guy (they sounded like a he) was talking as if they were playing kickball and he miscalculated a kick.

"I'll take that as a no." With a twirl of the gun for show before pocketing it into his holster, Mystery Person hopped off the table into a front flip that landed him in front of the side of the couch, facing both the dogs and the hallway. He leaned back against the furniture and crossed his arms in nonchalance. "On the bright side, you guys performed better than expected. Ever considered careers in crime?"

Jameson tilted his snout down at the man incredulously. "No thanks," he sassily responded, "I'm allergic to orange jumpsuits. And barred windows."

"Not as long as you're smart about it. Besides the dark side's got donuts."

Jameson pursed his lips in thought as if actually considering the offer this time. "Hmm, I _do_ like donuts as long as I can eat them, especially apple fritter and glazed."

Okay, screw dignity. Peabody facepalmed this time. _'Sweet Susan B, I'm surrounded by oddballs.'_

"Oh we got all kinds, but I digress." Mystery Person waved a hand dismissively, "You obviously already know why my... _friend_ and I came here. You know, that disembodied head you launched out the window? He was here to make sure you guys stayed out cold while I collected the kid." He popped his lips beneath the ski-mask. "His luck does not like to cooperate, as you can tell."

Peabody narrowed his eyes and took a bold step forward, tired of this fellow's tangents. "Tell the truth. How many of you are in my home?"

Mystery Person held his hands up in defense, still laidback. "Only me and him. Our partners have their hands full with other things. But hey, I know when I'm beat."

Jameson blinked, his intuition raising alarms. There was no way this guy could be giving up so easily. Right?

"Be warned, though," the man's voice the same teasing tone you'd expect from a hungry viper, "It's not a good idea to keep a parent from their child. You'd know that better than anyone here, Peabody."

 _'What is he talking about?'_ Was that man suggesting—No, the ivory pooch vehemently shook his head. _'I will play no part in this ruffian's mind games.'_ Taking a firm step forward, he pointed a finger at the intruder. "You have no place in this house. _Leave._ "

"As you wish. But first..." Mystery Person whipped his mask off, revealing...

Jameson shook his head. "Dude, what the...?"

Peabody swore his heart stopped. "You...you look like...who—"

Multiple darts hit Peabody from behind, the smaller dog dropping to his knees instantly as his vision and mind began to swim. Vague sounds of someone calling his name, movement, and more shots echoed on the fringes of his receding awareness.

A roar of pain coupled with the hiss of electricity tore at his heart.

Peabody, too weakened, felt his arms give out from under him, the last to meet his senses being a mocking "Good night, da'lings" and a female figure carrying a bundle of blue blankets topped with a red tuft of hair.

Then oblivion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like to think Jameson’s lullaby tune for Sherman came from the Paper Tigers Remix of Bon Iver’s “Perth”. Really, it is gorgeous! Goodness, though, not a good way to end the first day!


	6. Meet Eris

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tend to doubt myself the further I go into chapter stories. That’s why I try to stick to oneshots instead. Regardless, I refuse to give up on this story now; I’ll never forgive myself otherwise!

Cold.

Empty.

If there were a word that could encompass all of these meanings, it would have described Peabody’s current state of mind perfectly as he stoically stood before the empty bed that once housed his son, green eyes intent on where Sherman had slept as if their focus would return the boy to his rightful place.

Because please, _please,_ any other word but ‘powerless’.

For even amongst the turbulence of his emotions, his brilliant mind churned and roared with millions of strategies and alternatives to resolve this injustice, every scenario cross-examined in a blink for effectiveness, plausibility, and chance of success.

All the while struggling to hold back the memories incited by this room.

_But Mr. Peabody, I’m not tired yet!_

_I brushed all my teeth, I swear!_

_What if monsters try to get in?_

_Can’t I sleep with you?_

_She called me a dog._

_I love you, Mr. Peabody._

So lost in thought, the white canine barely noticed two figures enter the room. When a rough thick hand touched his shoulder, Peabody smiled over at Jameson in appreciation, although he had to wince at the ridiculously massive white cone perched on the larger dog’s head.

That shock collar really did a number on him.

Pearl meanwhile took stock of the bedroom, not surprised by how ‘normal’ everything looked to the untrained eye. If you knew nothing about what happened beforehand, you would’ve thought Sherman were off at either a friend’s house or camp. Her lips downturned when she noticed her colleague’s eyes focus intently on the note as though it held the answer to finding Sherman.

But she held back her pity; if they wanted to find Sherman, they’d have to rely on actions, not words.

And knowing Peabody, she could tell that massive brain had a million plans in store already.

_‘Luckily Eris isn’t the only one with surprises.’_

“Jameson.” When the terrier faced her with attentive eyes, she nodded to Peabody. “Keep him company; when he thinks of an idea and needs help, give it. I’m going to make some calls.” Because if the descriptions the dogs gave to the police after their awakening were any indication, then Pearl knew the time for the ‘surprise’ had arrived.

Jameson hummed affirmatively as he watched his partner in justice flip out a cerulean PSP-like communicator from her pants’ pocket and dial some numbers. He nudged Peabody in hopes of gaining the beagle’s attention.

Though Peabody did not turn around completely, his head angled enough to indicate his full attention to Jameson. His emerald eyes narrowed at the calmly knowing smile, confused.

“The two of you seem oddly composed considering recent events,” he pointed out with slight dryness.

That smug grin of Jameson never wavered. “I was standing outside your door this morning during your little chat with Pearl, remember? She slipped me a tube of tracking gel before I left to pick Sherman up, and I squirted it onto the kid’s toothbrush while I was helping him brush his teeth.”

 _That_ info took Peabody by surprise, the dog unsure whether to be infuriated at his son being more or less ‘chipped’ or curious as to how Jameson achieved such a feat. Curiosity won over. Peabody shook his head in wonder.

“When? I had my eyes on the two of you the whole time.”

“Ah, that’s just it,” Jameson corrected with a wagging finger, “I switched the container for the ordinary toothpaste Sherman uses right before my shower earlier. Pretty alike, huh?” Good thing Pearl had a photographic memory from each time she stayed overnight here. Otherwise Peabody’s keen sight would have noticed something off in an instance.

Peabody’s eyes widened, utterly taken back by the cunning exhibited by his friends...and right under his own nose, no less! He shot his gaze to Pearl for confirmation, the Hawaiian affirming Jameson’s words with a firm nod and faint smirk.

_‘Sometimes I forget I’m not the only one capable of planning ahead.’_

The white dog put a paw to his chin in thought before facing his fellow dog. “This gel? How effective is it?”

“ _Damn_ effective. Sherman could be on the _Moon_ and we’d still find him!”

“Wouldn’t Sherman merely need to eat something for it to lose effect?”

“The gel seeps into the bloodstream through the gums right after contact and lasts up to two weeks.”

Peabody rubbed one hand against his chin. “How long had you two planned for this?”

Pearl shook her head. “Not just us. Our agency’s been after Eris for ages and figured it would only be a matter of time before she set her eyes on the smartest being in the world and his child.”

Jameson thumbed at his partner. “But Pearl mostly called the shots on this. I was just the delivery boy.”

“In that case, you executed your delivery perfectly.” Gesturing a paw to follow him, Peabody exited his son’s room, gingerly closing it with reverence once Pearl and Jameson cleared the door. “Now we need to plan out how to get him back, and I know just how we’ll—”

“Already done,” Pearl interjected. At Peabody’s stupefied blink, she take her communicator back out. “Jameson anticipated a sneak-attack or at least something creative, so he called in some old friends to keep watch in case he and you got bested.”

Peabody frowned, resisting the urge to reflect back on what he and his fellow dog witnessed earlier tonight. “Fellow agents?”

“Freelance, to be more precise. They’re more of a ragtag pair of do-gooders than actual agents.” The reason she resisted the suggestion herself at first...until Jameson pointed out the tactical unpredictability, to which even she had to admit proved clever thinking upon further consideration. “They don’t seem like much, but when you get down to it, they really come through in a pinch.”

Peabody turned to Jameson. Who exactly did the terrier call for backup?

Jameson snickered at the unasked question. Ho boy, was PB gonna get a kick out of this.

* * *

 

Grogginess ebbed in and out.

What happened? Last time Sherman checked, he woke up to the sound of shouts and footsteps and ran for the door. Except the moment he opened it, some tall creepy lady he never met crammed a cloth over his mouth...then nothing.

His mind jolted in realization!

His room.

His home.

Mr. Peabody!

Mr. Jameson!

Orange eyes shot open, a mistake as it only allowed them to fall victim to the dimness around him, New York’s blinding lights below. Sherman grunted in discomfort as he waited for his poor pupils to adjust. Where was he? Almost immediately, his mind registered the scratchy feeling of rope around him, his arms pinioned, and of a cushy seat, its softness doing nothing to alleviate his tension.

_‘Okay. I’m in a strange place, I’m stuck, being held captive by Eris, and there’s no one to help me.’_

He needed a moment to take a deep breath. Panic would do no good here. He had to stay calm like Mr. Peabody would and wait for the opportune moment.

Until then, it would be best to play along with whoever took him.

Once his vision adjusted, Sherman took the chance to finally notice his surroundings. He seemed to be in an aircraft’s first-class suite: ball-chair seats laden in gold, alleyway covered in red Gala carpet, and a BrightLink projector hovering over a sliding door that led to the pilots’ cabin, where two shadowy figures beyond the frosted glass of his room’s door conversed, their voices too far and muffled to be understood.

Glancing at the wall to the left of the pilot cabin’s door, he blanched at the dartboard that held a knife-ridden photograph of his father at the center.

“Oh good, Sleeping Beauty’s finally awake!”

Sherman shot his head to the left at the perky voice, and his eyes went wide! For sitting in the seat across the alleyway from his, reading a magazine over crossed legs as if on vacation was—

“Miss Conner? W-What’s going on? What does Eris plan to do with me?”

“I wouldn’t need to worry in your place,” ‘Kayla’ stated in a causal tone, eyes never leaving her magazine, “Ruthless and devious as I am, I have no intentions of harming you.”

Huh? What kind of response was—?

Sherman’s eyes went wide.

“Wait. If... _you’re_ Eris, then why do you walk around without a disguise?” he inquired with wonder.

Eris finally faced him and shrugged. “When no one knows your actual identity and you’re a world-class mastermind, hiding in plain sight is practically your best friend. Though I have to admit,” she put a hand to her heart in faux hurt, her bottom lip pouting, “it hurts that you don’t recognize your own mother.”

“WHAT?!”

One thing the ropes did _not_ keep Sherman from doing, it was flying out of his seat from shock! The poor boy ended up flat on his face, glasses askew as he quickly refaced the woman in incomprehension.

_‘I—I’ve been kidnapped by my own mom?!’_

Well, this twist certainly put all his yearly concerns about Mother’s Day in perspective.

A thousand more questions now tumbled in his mind, but one in particular stood at the forefront. Swinging his legs, Sherman managed to upright himself.

Before he could ask, Eris held a hand to cut him off.

“Now I know what’ you’re thinking, honey,” she waved her right hand in a casual manner, “what could we possibly gain from taking you for ransom? Your first guess would probably be money, which is pretty understandable. Our jobs don’t come without expenses.”

“However, I like to think us and Peabody are alike in that we’re all visionaries. We see the present as fertile ground for new ideas and opportunities for the future,” her smile became wide and cheery, “and what better way to achieve them than collaboration?”

Yeah right. Sherman, not buying into the act, narrowed his eyes. “Mr. Peabody doesn’t go around hurting others.”

That retort earned him a cluck of the tongue. “Now sweetie, I admit. What we’re doing is illegal and therefore wrong. As parents, we’re supposed to set a prime example of morality and Samaritan values, blah, blah, blah.”

Her seriousness returned into perkiness as she walked up to her captive and patted the boy’s head in a blasé fashion. “But that’s okay. You’ll get used to it.”

Used to it? Sherman did not like the sound of that any more than he did the idea of staying with this lady and whoever her ‘friends’ were, blood-related or not. He belonged back home where he was safe, where he was protected...and where Mr. Peabody didn’t sling around knifes like no one’s business.

No way, the kid needed to blow this nightmare...only how? If his biological mom was as intelligent as claimed, then he was going to have to outsmart them if he wanted to escape.

He jumped when Eris suddenly clapped her hands.

“Now then, who’s ready for dinner? I ordered your favorite—well, your dad’s favorite but you share the same genes so close enough. Oh and don’t bother escaping; the only parachutes here are with the pilots, and yeah we have no leftovers for you.”

Sherman forced a smile as his mother undid the ropes tying his arms.

This was going to be _so_ awkward.

* * *

 

Unbeknownst to the passengers and pilots, a tiny shadow glided high above the craft, watchful not to reveal itself as it stealthily stuck to cloud cover.

A faint **_BZZZKT_** abruptly echoed in its blue aviator’s hat. When it placed a finger on the side of its head, a dopily coarse voice rang into his ears.

“See ‘em?”

“You bet I do,” Shadow murmured in a tone full of determination. “Time to move in?”

“Time to move in. You ready, good buddy?”

“You betcha your wilikers I am, Bullwinkle.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Didn’t see that coming now, did you?


	7. Friends in High Places

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well in very late news, David Bowie is confirmed dead. The world of music is now in mourning. Hopefully this chapter will cheer someone up.

Dinner was deathly quiet—at least from Sherman’s end.

Boring, too, which wasn’t an adjective you’d expect from someone taken hostage, yet there it was.

Eris—or Janet as she ‘kindly’ suggested Sherman to call her— filled the uncomfortable silence with her own words, as if she either could not sense the child’s discomfort or disregarded it. Stories about past crimes, how she and her husband started out, and their rise to the top.

Honestly Sherman was getting tired of hearing her constant hints on the benefits of villainy, especially since they only reminded him of his current situation; would this lady ever shut up?

The delicious food and drinks could do nothing to distract him either.

Janet put a hand to her mouth once she caught the child’s bored glance into empty space. “Oh, here I am rambling on and on about myself! What about you?”

Hearing that question made Sherman face her with an inquisitive countenance.

“Oh c’mon, there has to be _something_ you’d like to add to the conversation. Other than the expected ‘I’d like to go home’ bit. You’ve been quiet ever since dinner started.”

Like he didn’t have a good reason to be? Still, Sherman looked away, pondering his next question, before cautiously eyeing Janet. “Is my dad here, too? My birth one, I mean.”

The woman waved a hand at the question as she answered, almost as if replying cost too much of her attention span and patience. “Oh yeah, he’s here, too.”

“How come he hasn’t joined us yet?”

Because last time Sherman checked there were _two_ people in the cockpit. Couldn’t the man let his associate take over while he had dinner with his family? To the boy’s confusion, Janet let out a tinkling laugh. “Honey, if only he could. You see, the couple we struck a deal with is less than trustworthy and if Natasha had her hands on the wheel, we’d soaring all over the place looking for Boris.”

Wait a second. Sherman’s mind needed a moment to review what happened tonight. “That creepy lady that gagged me?” He winced at the memory of the cold gaunt hands grabbing him, tight enough to elicit a cry of pain if not for the cloth.

Janet pointed at him in a ‘you got it’ manner. “That’s the one! Her hubby’s the one who ended up landing in a pig pen somewhere off of Albany after Jameson shotput him into the upper troposphere. Good thing we tagged him with a tracker!”

Sherman simply stared, blank-faced.

“I know. Crazy, right? Bud’s shrink ray seems to have different effects on people when it comes to size. I wouldn’t be surprised if Boris ended up looking like a disembodied head once the effects started wearing off. In which case, I would’ve tossed his tiny butt out as soon as possible, too.”

Okay. _That_ was not an image Sherman needed. Visuals aside, the boy still felt the need to critique this woman and her husband’s decisions as parents, at least on Mr. Peabody’s behalf. “If they’re not so trustworthy, then you oughta be careful. You shouldn’t have even gotten their help in the first place.”

Mouth set in a fake coo, Janet put a hand to her heart as the other reached over and pinched Sherman’s cheek, much to the child’s chagrin. “Oh that’s so sweet of you to be concerned for us, but we can handle ourselves just fine.” Her hand pulled back in a flourish. “Just so you know; your other dad and his nosy little friends aren’t the only ones keeping an eye out for you.”

Weren’t the only ones? Did this lady mean herself and her compatriots? Because if so the very idea would have sent Sherman into snorting laughter if he weren’t as confused as heck. He tilted his head, brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“Well, why else would we—ACK!”

“WHOA!”

The plane suddenly started rocking, throwing both Sherman and Janet off their chairs and their food and drinks to the floor, staining the carpet. After steadying herself back onto her feet, Janet glared into her watch. “Bud! What the hell is going on?! That better be some turbulence doing this!”

A grunt broke through the static moments (and another tremulous thud) later. “Sweetie, I think we’ve picked up an unwanted passenger!”

“How can you be sure?” As if on cue, a brief yet blinding explosion burst the main door open, the smoke concealing a small tailed figure holding something in its upraised hand. Except when the smoke cleared, nobody was there.

Janet rolled her eyes, unimpressed. ‘ _Invisibility tech? How old school.’_

Pulling out her cellphone, she tapped a number that sent out a neon-blue dome field. Sherman flinched when it touched him, only to realize it wasn’t affecting him. The figure, however, reacted instantly upon contact, twitching as a neon-blue silhouette, Sherman shielding his eyes from the brightness, before—

**_POP!_ **

The two humans could only gawk at the melted plastic remains lying on the floor. Janet shook her head in denial. _‘Wait a second! That worked on a dummy but not the real thing? Then where’s—‘_

“Hey, who are—wait!”

Janet’s head swiveled in the direction of Sherman’s shout. Before the woman knew what for, her offspring vanished before her very eyes, his scream vanishing into the night. Resisting the urge to gnash her teeth, she begrudgingly spoke into her watch again.

Natasha’s voice beat her to the punch.

“We know, we saw. That puny squirrel,” the sound of the other woman gritting her teeth clashed against the static. “He helped that little twerp escape!”

Janet heard Buddy huff in lukewarm annoyance then the sound of him pointedly wrestling the microphone away from the Pottsylvanian woman’s grip.

“So he has. This could be a problem.”

His wife clucked her tongue in mild disappointment. “Tell me about it. He’ll blab everything to his dad the second they reunite. He does have your mouth, after all.”

“Honey, let’s not start. Anyway, I’d rather not worry about him getting too far. Even if he does reach Peabody, it’s not like there’s anything the kid will be able to do to stop what comes next.”

She had to give her hubby that. If the main part of the plan went on as planned, Peabody’s secret would remain their ace in the hole.

* * *

 

Wind whistling in his ears, lights rushing by, and concrete coming closer: yeah, not fun—and for someone who succeeded (temporarily) in piloting Leonardo’s first aircraft, this was quite a statement.

At least with the craft, Sherman had some sense of control. Here he could only cling to his furry savior’s neck tight for what felt like eons, hoping this squirrel knew about landing better than he did.

Fortunately, touchdown came rather smoothly and easily for the squirrel, and Sherman, visibly relieved, hopped off the mammal’s arms, only to start shivering from the cold. The squirrel, noticing the child’s discomfort, wrapped his tail over Sherman’s shoulders to help with warmth, a gesture the boy acknowledged with a thankful nod, before they walked down the empty streets together.

At the first crosswalk, Sherman looked to the squirrel. “Thanks for saving me.”

The gray-furred tree-dweller shrugged with a smile. “Gee wilikers, it’s no problem. Just doing my job.”

“Who are you, by the way?”

Chest puffing out proudly, the squirrel smiled and thumbed his chest with his free hand. “Rocky. Rocky J. Squirrel! It’s nice ta meet ya, although it woulda been nicer to meet ya without all o’ this.”

True.

Sherman looked around to the scarce number of people straggling around them at this time of night. He frowned worriedly at a shady fellow in a trench-coat walking past them...only to grow confused when not a single glance got tossed their way.

‘ _Are we still invisible?’_

Rocky must have caught the question in his eyes because, after checking over his shoulder for any eavesdroppers, he whispered, “Special vest—bulletproof, EMP proof, and a bunch of other proofs. Your dad made this himself!”

That was _one_ question answered alright, but now a thousand more were left in its wake.

“So you guys know each other?”

Rocky rubbed his nape sheepishly, appearing as though he let the cat out of the bag. “Uh, kind of. Have you ever watched that show with the world-saving cheerleader? What’s her name again? Kim Possible?”

Sherman nodded, wondering at the relevance of that question.

“Mmm,” Rocky counted out with his fingers, “Pearl’s like Kim; Keanu is Ron; your dad is Wade; and I guess Bullwinkle and I switch off on being Rufus. It can get pretty intense sometimes, but it can pretty fun as long as you keep an open mind and stay in one piece! Anyway we gotta get you someplace safe.”

But where, Sherman pondered in concern. If Janet and her friends could infiltrate his home—the home heavily guarded by his father’s security with Pearl’s added measures, no less—then where else would he be safe?

Rather than answering, Rocky patted his shoulder and guided him further down the street until they stopped before a navy-blue building with modest neon lights reading _Moose n’ Squirrel Bar._

Okay, uh. Sherman needed a moment to take in this place. Tossing a perplexed look to his companion, he watched Rocky open the doors and promptly followed him in.

“Aw, Rocky my boy!” a moose that had been behind the counter, routinely washing cups with a cheery whistle, greeted them in a deep yet dopily friendly voice, “I was getting’ worried that ya wouldn’t—,” he paused with a bemused expression and pointed to his wrist.

Flashing a hasty sorry to his friend, Rocky flicked a knob and reappeared into view along with Sherman, who gawked at the beautiful tropical décor and massive unlit 70’s-style dance floor, wondering what this place was like during business hours. He snapped to attention at Rocky’s perky exclamation.

“Mission success, Bullwinkle!”

“Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about, Rocky ol’ buddy!” Bullwinkle turned to Sherman and offered a hearty handshake. “You must be Peabody’s boy, Sherman, eh? Nice to finally meet ya! He’s told us all a lot about ya!”

Huh, good to know! Sherman blushed and smiled as he returned the gesture. “Really? Thanks!” He looked around again. “I take it you guys own this place, right?”

“Yipperdoo!” Bullwinkle gestured to the whole facility. “Pearl pulled some strings and got us this shindig for a steal! Folks from all around show up to partake in fantastic food and entertainment! Speaking of which, you look like you could use something to calm your nerves. Care to partake in one of our kid-friendly drinks?”

Finger to his chin, Sherman hummed in thought. He supposed he could use something to take the edge off of tonight, especially after the craziness that happened. When he nodded, Bullwinkle snappily snatched off a cup from the shelves behind him and asked the boy which drink he’d like.

Five minutes later, Sherman was sitting on a stool facing the dance-floor, sipping a sugar-free cherry-lime shake in between conversing with his new companions, who turned out to be quite spirited and interesting much to his delight.

“So you guys are secret agents?”

Rocky, seated next to Sherman and nursing a glass of water, stuck a finger in the air. “Freelance, to be precise. Ya could say we’re a secret weapon. Cuz we got somethin’ Eris and her friends don’t!”

“Janet.” Both mammals blinked at the boy’s soft-spoken assertion. “That’s her real name, um,” he fiddled with his straw and looked away in shame, “and she’s my mom, I just found out.” Though why she’d just share her real name with him made no tactical sense.

Hopefully, knowing would not backfire in the future.

Bullwinkle shook his head in sympathy as he patted Sherman’s back, his smile gentle and assuring. “We know you’re a good kid, Sherman. You’re nowhere near as downright mean and nasty as that lady and her so-called friends. Just stick with us and you’ll be with your dad again soon!”

Hearing that guarantee returned a hesitant yet thankful smile to Sherman’s face. “Thanks,” his gratitude dampened at a sudden thought, “but what’ll happen if Janet finds me again?”

A smart twinkle flashed across the moose’s eye like a shooting star. “Ah, but who would bring a kid to an empty bar at midnight to keep them safe from a criminal mastermind?”

“Someone not very smart?” Sherman answered rather slowly out of fear of offending the moose.

Instead of being insulted, Bullwinkle clapped his hands and gave a sly wink. “Exactly! Intentional stupidity, my boy! Who would expect you to make such an obvious mistake on purpose? Especially someone who’s used to pulling off elaborate well-thought out schemes?”

Sherman opened his mouth to retort, only to think back over the moose’s words. His eyes lit up from realization. Oh...oh wow! That strategy kind of made sense once you thought about it. “That’s...pretty fantastic!”

Bullwinkle tapped the left side of his head with a wink. “One of the pros of being dim-witted is that your enemies don’t take your true potential seriously. Makes it easier to surprise ‘em! Now then,” he strolled around the bar and gestured Sherman to follow, “while I’d like us to whittle the night away with chitchat, if I remember tonight’s a school night.”

“What about Mr. Peabody? You said he’s coming soon.”

To the boy’s sudden confusion, Bullwinkle bit his cheek out of self-reproach. Maybe saying ‘soon’ was a bit too optimistic.

Rocky nudged the boy’s shoulder to gain his attention. “Janet’ll be looking for you right now, so you better lie low with us for tonight. In fact, I’ve gotta call Pearl and tell her what’s going on. Bullwinkle, could ya show Sherman where he can sleep?”

With a crisp salute and hearty wave of his hand, the larger mammal gestured Sherman to follow, saying goodnight to his friend while doing so, Rocky happily returning the phrase over his shoulder as he fiddled with his medium blue cellphone.

“Night to you, too, Sherman!”

“Goodnight, Mr. Rocky.”

Rocky paused his typing to hold back a giggle. Yep that was definitely Peabody’s kid, alright.

* * *

 

Pearl checked the latest message on her phone’s screen. Yep, right on time.

“Alright he should be safe now. He’ll stick with them until tomorrow.” Flipping the phone closed, she faced a worry-faced Peabody. “I’m sorry but he can’t go anywhere until you’ve picked him up. You can’t go now either or otherwise you’ll end up hinting to Eris his location. Rocky removed whatever trackers they may have put on him to insure against that happening.”

Peabody nodded in understanding, thankful that at least his son was with people who intended no malice. And that moose and squirrel had to be the furthest from malice than anyone else the beagle knew aside from Jameson. All the same, tonight could prove hard to bear knowing Sherman would not be home with him.

 _‘Even after what happened,’_ he noted with a disheartened frown.

“You and Jameson can pick him tomorrow and drop him off at school. We can discuss our next course of action after that.”

The two dogs shared a look before Peabody arched his eyebrows at Pearl in curiosity. “What about you?”

Readjusting the strap of her purse, Pearl thumbed behind herself. “There are some strings I gotta pull back at work. Speaking of which,” she turned to Jameson, “tell Rocky and Bullwinkle to meet us at Templeton Tower two hours before the party starts.”

Jameson thumbs-up’ed while Peabody tossed glances to and fro the two Hawaiians in wonder. What were these two planning? As much as the prodigy hated being kept out of the loop, he decided to let the matter go and trust them on this matter.

Pearl pocketed her cell-phone then checked her purse for something. A satisfied smile-less hum later, she approached Peabody and put a hand on his shoulder. “You’re going to see him again. Just get some rest for tonight, and tomorrow will come soon enough.”

Peabody chuckled as he jokingly brushed the hand off. “Hmph, you and your platitudes. Sometimes I wonder if you’re still stuck in the mindset of college.”

His colleague smirked at the joking assurance before saying goodnight and leaving via the elevator for the second time that night. Once she left, Peabody faced Jameson, who had been oddly silent since walking out of Sherman’s bedroom.

“Jameson? Will you be alright while Sherman’s at school and I’m at work?”

The larger dog waved a hand nonchalantly. “Hmm? Oh yeah, yeah, no worries. I’ll know how to entertain myself ‘til I gotta pick Sherman up.” And considering his skillset, that task would not be hard at all. A yawn rippled from his mouth as he gave a lithe stretch, arms over his head. “Anyway I’m gonna hit the sack, too. Night, Peabs.”

Peabody nodded with a terse ‘goodnight’...only to pause after about three steps into the hallway. “Ja—Keanu?” Jameson paused then turned around, somewhat surprised by the use of his first name. “Thank you for talking sense into me earlier. I’m sorry for how I acted when you first came here.

At first, silence. Peabody wondered if he’d touched a sensitive subject until Keanu enveloped him into a tender hug. “I did kinda drop in out of the blue, huh? C’mon, buddy, let’s not waste snooze-time being all gloomy. Things are gonna look up. Just gotta hope.”

A smile manifested on Peabody’s face at the sound of his friend’s gentle heartbeat against his cheek as the beagle returned the hug.

_‘Yes. Hope.’_


	8. Party Un-crashers

A light shined down from above, making his eyes recoil at the sudden brightness.

Peabody shielded his face as his vision slowly readjusted to reveal...a courtroom?

His eyes took in the white-tiled floor that extended into nearby blackness all around him, save for the light in which the dog stood. His confusion only increased at the startling sound of a pounding gavel. A gaze up revealed someone in navy-blue roles, ebony eyes peering down at the dog with utmost scrutiny from atop the towering stand.

Peabody squinted his eyes once he recognized the familiar face. “Pearl? What on Earth are you doing here?”

“Mr. Peabody,” the Hawaiian began in a stern voice that resounded throughout the room, utterly ignoring the dog’s question, “you are here to stand trial.”

Trial?! The prodigy blinked his eyes—thrice for good measure—gobsmacked. “Wha...I beg your pardon?! Pearl, I—,” he paused to take a deep calming breath then continued in a more controlled tone, “on what grounds, may I ask?”

For a moment, Pearl remained silent, eyes still piercing Peabody in a way that made the dog inwardly nervous. At last, she leaned over to make her stoic expression more visible.

“For destroying people’s feels.”

...Uh. Peabody needed a moment to digest this.

Without breaking eye contact, Pearl snapped her fingers. “Remote please.”

From a shadowy corner of the room came Jameson decked out like a bailiff (uniform and all), cap covering his eyes in a way Peabody would have teased him over if not for the weirdness of this situation. As the terrier marched up the steps towards Pearl, Peabody indeed noticed a black remote in his left hand.

Once Jameson handed Pearl the requested item, she briskly pressed a button and a massive TV screen lowered down from the darkness, flickering on to reveal Peabody with baby Sherman after the canine won the right for adoption years ago. When the past Peabody on the screen started receiving ‘Peababa’ from Sherman, present Peabody couldn’t fight back a fond smile.

The moment ended when he heard Jameson’s soft coo of “Aww” get cut off by Pearl’s pounding gavel.

“As decided by a jury of your peers,” she gestured to a jury consisting of cardboard cutouts of all Peabody’s friends from across time, “you have been sentenced to the insanity ward.”

Down went Peabody’s jaw! The dog had to bite back the urge to shout out what an outrage this proceeding was! First Pearl’s out-there accusation, and now this: this whole nonsense had to be a joke, right?

Right?

“Jameson,” Pearl continued, completely unfazed, as she tossed the remote back to the terrier, “will you do the honors?”

Jameson, in one fluid motion, caught the remote and pressed a different button before Peabody could even blink, leaving the beagle completely unprepared when the floor beneath him instantly gave away, edges too far for his hands to reach.

Down, down, down he went, the lights of the courtroom receding into the black the further he went.

Then **_PLOP_**!

Back first right onto an unforgiving floor...of sponge?

Peabody, sitting up, pressed his hands down to confirm. Yep, definitely sponge. Well, at least it broke his fall; and better here than back up in that asylum. Seriously, though, what _was_ that about? Jameson, he could anticipate (maybe semi-understand) that weirdness, but Pearl?

Nearby humming brought Peabody’s attention to the left, where he saw a round dark-clad woman with chestnut hair standing atop a podium, her hands fiddling with something Peabody couldn’t see from his current angle.

 _Oh, please be someone capable of seeing reason,_ he prayed as he stood up and stepped forward. Two steps in, he balked at the woman’s identity, even rubbed his eyes to insure he saw right. His face scrunched as he continued his (albeit more hesitant) approach.

“Miss Richie?”

“Oh hi, Hector!” The cheery shelter owner, despite the warm welcome, never turned to face Peabody, evidently more focused on something in front or her.

Alas, more strange behavior. On the bright side, she hadn’t immediately proceeded to bombard him with nonsense. Plus, if memory served Peabody well, she’d always been a touch absent-minded so maybe nothing all that unusual here. That thought in mind, Peabody cleared his throat.

“Miss Richie, could you please explain to me what’s been—,” his eyes went wide once his old friend turned to face him this time. In a slow tentative voice, he asked, “Why are you dressed like that?”

Miss Richie donned the attire of an orchestra’s conductor, her lavender bowtie a stark contrast to the coal of her jacket. She merely put a finger to her lips. “Shh, Hector, the concert is about to start.” Then she raised her hands and baton high in the air.

 _Concert?_ Peabody peeked around her. Nothing but black again. _What concert?_

The moment Miss Richie’s baton descended, a hurricane-like cacophony of iridescent soundwaves blew Peabody back like an oversized leaf-blower. Head over heel, head over heel he rolled until his journey mercifully came to end, resulting with him supine. Sitting up once again with some effort, he groaned as he rubbed his head, ears ringing from the orchestral onslaught.

_Well...that was shockingly rude of her...and painful._

Amidst the soreness, his nose caught something sweet. A glance around later, he discovered a huge cooking pot nearby (how he had miss that was beyond him), the silverware being stirred by a small person in an apron and head-scarf that held back bountiful red hair...

_Wait a second..._

“Sherman?”

Standing up once again, Peabody took cautionary steps towards his son, wary of whatever absurdity appeared to rule this realm.

Once he got close, though, his eyes widened in horror and concern at the great black marks underlining the boy’s droopy eyes. His smile came out weak and strained while his petite arms churned the pot’s contents with slow but obvious effort, wrinkled clothes looking damp from the steam clinging to them.

“Sherman, what has happened to you?”

The boy never turned to face his father, only kept stirring. When he spoke, his voice came out happy yet dull, like an obedient servant that had wasted their life dedicating it to one task. “Love is where history really begins, Mr. Peabody...so I’m making a cake of love...enough for everyone we’ve ever met.”

Peabody finally noticed that the heads within the pot, like the cutouts from earlier, resembled his friends from across time, only here they appeared more anime-esque with their round heads and beady eyes. The beagle could only watch in part wonder and part disgust as the heads melted like ice cream into the swirling miasma of color.

He’d seen quite enough.

Reaching out to his son, Peabody managed a warm, albeit stressed, smile. “Sherman, perhaps you’d be best off taking a—“

In the space of a second, the steam around Sherman and the pot grew until it overtook Peabody’s vision, the dog jolting at the sudden lack of visibility. Stumbling blind, over and over the beagle struggled to call out his son’s name for an answer, only to cough out the steam that somehow choked him like smoke.

All the while voices called out to him, mocking him, sneering at him, sounding much too much like the people who took his dear pup away.

“Sherman? Sherman— _hack, blech—_ Sherman!”

Eventually the steam ceased intruding his lungs, giving him room to breathe. Though it remained thick enough to keep him nearsighted, he could still see far enough to watch his step. Once more, he tried called out Sherman...until a squatting silhouette caught his eye.

_Dare I even come near that one?_

Because he already realized the pattern going on here. Unfortunately, his feet evidently did not for Peabody, against his will, found himself coming closer regardless. The silhouette turned out to be Penny’s mother, the blonde woman kneeling in front of an array of playing cards, over which her hands hovered.

Never looking back, her head angled up a bit the moment Peabody came within two feet of her.

“Huh, interesting,” she mumbled to herself, “Peabody, it says here you have a fragmented personality.”

The white dog eyed the blonde with utmost scrutiny, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “Patty, that is preposterous at best. There is no way you could possibly discern such a mental condition—or any, mind you—with mere pieces of decorated cardboard.”

A bubbly titter countered his response. Our prodigy was not amused.

“That’s okay, Peabody,” Patty assured in a tone Peabody considered too casual and blasé. She finally gazed over her shoulder at him, smile having the same affect (or lack thereof). “Denial is pretty typical of”— **_BZZZKKT_** went her form like RBG static, making Peabody jump in fear, before clearing to reveal a Harley Quinn parody of herself, smile intact— “dissociative disorders.”

What in the—Peabody took delicate steps back, not sure he even _wanted_ to know what was going on anymore, until he heard another spotlight go off behind him.

A dread-filled turn of his head revealed Penny dressed in a sterile-white and slightly oversized doctor’s coat, the glasses she wore adding to the unnerving neutrality of her face. It reminded Peabody too much of the way he himself would observe an experiment. The way she adjusted her spectacles did not help either.

“With all due respect, mother, I’m afraid he’s my patient,” she stated in monotone just before, yes, the lights went out yet again.

When sight returned to Peabody, he found himself strapped to an examination table via steel constraints around his body—and since when did his body possess the same texture and color as a green Gummi Bear? For such a strange situation, it unimpressed him more than unnerved him.

“Honestly? I had a feeling you would appear at some point.” What inanity would he have to endure this time?

Before his eyes, Penny started sliding in a circle around him without moving her legs as though she stood on a conveyor belt, afterimages of various colors following her.

“The fragrance of Gummi Bears weaves together a web of emotional yearning for the simplistic mindset of childhood that entraps the mind and disconnects it from reality, resulting in a mental limbo between fact and fantasy. This is the origin of all mental disorders.”

Peabody—or in this case, Gummybody eyed the girl as if she’d gone insane. On second thought, that wouldn’t be farfetched to assume at this point. “As much as I _applaud_ your attempt at logic, there is not a shred of reason in your theory.”

No response.

The dog craned his neck in an attempt to locate the girl, whose journey ceased somewhere behind, but to no avail.

“Penny?”

Out went the lights; in went the lights. His eyes hoped that would end soon.

Blinking the dilation away, he discovered everyone from the dream so far standing around the table, staring down at him as thought expecting something. When their heads turned towards the black south of them, Peabody followed their eyes and discovered someone approaching out of the gloom: Paul in the visage of a nun, his hands clasping a book in front of him and face solemn and deep.

 _Oh Godwin, what does_ he _have to say?_

He was about to find out. When Paul eventually reached his captive and their motley audience, he regarded Peabody with a piercingly half-lidded gaze.

Without a word, Paul suddenly raised his book and slammed it onto the table, sending Peabody flying as if the restraints never existed.

Especially since the restraints turned to dust against Peabody’s body and followed him in flight, reforming around his body until it became a sharp tuxedo complete with a beautiful red corsage. In moments, he landed on a spot of plush red carpet under a spotlight, back to his normal inedible self.

His panning eyes discovered a sea of faces behind him, staring back, blanketed in shadow and expressions unreadable.

A hem brought his attention to an altar where the Judge who headed the trial over Sherman’s adoption years ago stood, book in hand. Though the bald dark-skinned man smiled warmly, Peabody felt a cloud of foreboding about all this.

Was this...a wedding...with him as the groom? If so, then who on Earth was the—

“Do you take this dog to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

“I do.”

Peabody froze on the spot. Oh Mother Teresa, preserve him. That _voice_...

He knew he shouldn’t but the forces that currently govern him made him look nevertheless...straight into the eyes of a smug Ms. Grunion all decked out in white to the point that she resembled the wedding cake more than an actual bride.

Peabody stumbled back as if struck blind only for the large woman to grab his right wrist into a steel-vice grip that instantly made the poor dog cringe. Try as he might, Peabody could not pull himself free.

“And do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

The answer, to Peabody, should have been obvious. “No! I do not! _Absolutely_ not!”

“Oh honey, you don’t mean you’re against this, do you?”

First off, Peabody would have gladly lived his whole life without Grunion calling him _that_. Second, what right did she have to feign innocence, when she damn well knew the wrongs she’d done against his family? With a huff and his free hand akimbo, the dog faced her with a stark frown. “You’re doggone right I do!”

“Then I now pronounce you man and wife,” the judge’s voice sped like lightning, ruthless and unheeded, “You may now kiss the bride.”

Peabody’s. Eyes. Went. Wide.

Panic, pure adulterated panic! He turned to the judge, reaching out in plead.  “No, wait! Your Honor, there’s a mistake here! I don’t want—GURK!”

Now he found himself face to face with Grunion, her hands choking his lithe neck, her sneering face up close and personal.

 _Too_ close and personal... _and getting closer..._

“C’mere, you...”

“No....”

And closer.

“No, please!”

His fear stared back in those puckering ruby red lips.

“NONONONONONONONO—“

And could do nothing as...tiled floor met his mouth instead.

Right before contact happened, something barreled straight into Grunion, knocking her to the ground and Peabody out of her hands. Straight into a pair of smaller yet stronger arms, the scent of citrus and ocean breeze clueing him into his rescuer’s identity immediately.

Peabody could not believe his eyes!

“K-Keanu...?”

The terrier, dressed in his usual aloha shirt like normal this time, never answered, merely glared at the fallen Grunion with eyes full of fierce protectiveness as the rotund hag scowled with all the rage and hate of someone who hated dogs—no, not just dogs, but those two dogs in front of her.

Peabody tugged the collar of Jameson’s shirt, hoping to get his attention and have him explain what on Earth was going on. Instead he found the wind screaming in his face, ears blowing back, while the shouts of various people echoed from behind, growing fainter and fainter the longer Jameson ran.

Leaving the white dog with no choice but to cling to the shirt, wondering about his friend’s unusual unresponsiveness along with the heel-face turn from his earlier behavior. Eventually Jameson slowed to a stop then lowered to his haunches, giving Peabody opportunity to depart.

Immediately Peabody left these arms, and faced his friend, eternally grateful yet confused beyond words. “Keanu? What has been happening?”

And why could he hear barking in the distance?

The smile Jameson gave him rang sadness and regret. “Look behind you.”

Peabody turned...

* * *

 

**_RIIING! RIIING!_ **

...and startled awake. He fell back in weariness the next second. What...where?

“Ugh.” After shutting off the alarm clock, his hand stroked back the tousled fur atop his head. What a rollercoaster of nocturnal images, none too pleasant either. _Perhaps a bout of meditation will serve my emotions well._

After whipping the sheets off and hopping onto the floor, he yawned with a lissome stretch, cracking his neck to and fro. He made sure to straighten out the sheets before taking his glasses and bowtie and departing for the bathroom in preparation for today.

Minutes later the prodigy sat in the middle of his living room in lotus position, yoga mat beneath him soft and smooth against his fur, eyes closed in calm concentration. His acute senses caught the thump of a heavier body plopping next to him.

“Hey Peabs.”

A green eye peeked open. “Hello Jameson. You’re up early.” Last time the beagle checked (i.e., years ago), Jameson was notorious for being a late riser. Being a bodyguard must have adjusted the terrier to getting up early.

The black canine shrugged and laid back, hands behind his head. “I can be when I wanna be. Oh, by the way, I got a call from Pearl. She, me, Rocks, and Bully gotta rendezvous at Templeton’s before the party, so we’re gonna hafta leave early.”

Peabody, both eyes now open and facing the other dog, hummed thoughtfully. “Very well. Best notify Sherman of this on the way to school.”

“You ain’t stayin’ behind? Those guys might set up anotha’ trap if you’re gone.”

The beagle scoffed at the warning. “If they’re as smart as they claim to be, they’ll know better than to pull the same stunt twice. That being said, be on your guard this evening. Templeton isn’t known for his large parties, so I wager someone else had a hand in his decision.”

“Oh yeah, that bimbo you’ve been workin’ with. So what ya gonna do now we know why she gave ya the binder?”

For the next few moments, Peabody remained in silence, though not necessarily meditating. Call him presumptuous but Jameson sounded...not guarded per say; serious of course as befitting the situation, except the word choice came off as...derisive.

Peabody, deciding against pursuing the matter, shook his head. The current situation did not call for assumptions.

“I have spybots of my own that can track her, but we’ll need more substantial preparation than that.” He stood up, face soft yet determined. Meditation would have to wait for now. “I normally wouldn’t allow this, but I need to procure a few items from my lab. Hopefully they’ll serve Sherman well. And if you or Pearl have any devices for self-defense, I’d appreciate you teaching Sherman how to use those.”

Jameson nodded in agreement before back-flipping onto his feet. “Way ahead of ya. Oh and, Peabs?”

The prodigy received three things when he regarded the other dog: a smirk, a wink, and a gentle flick to the nose.

“You’re still fucking cute when ya think.”

That statement inspired quite the blush under Peabody’s face. He nudged the silly pooch’s muzzle away and left for the lab.

“Oh quiet you.”

* * *

The party got uncomfortable for Sherman pretty fast.

Penny saw to that the instant she caught sight of him again. Turns out lunchtime and the standard walk to the school exit didn’t leave her enough time to express her tirade about how one of her best friends got kidnapped.

Jameson did not take well to the Peterson child’s attitude.

“Lay off the kid. So the bastards got the sneak on ‘im, why should _he_ get crap for that? That’s my fault and Peabody’s for not paying attention.”

Usually Penny would have retorted some choice words, but apparently Jameson played this game before; for every cutting remark the girl snapped, the terrier returned in full until eventually Penny found herself out-sassed and out-skilled in the arguing department.

Fortunately, the terrier’s warm personality and blow-by-blow account of how Rocky saved Sherman succeeded in dispelling the girl’s wrath, much to Sherman’s relief. So for the moment, he was entertaining the kids with tales of his travels around the world, partially to show off; partially to keep them from stressing out over the situation.

Pearl and Peabody hung back at the buffet table meanwhile, sharing small talk with passersby while keeping a subtle eye out for anything suspicious. So far, nothing out of the ordinary. Not even Kayla, who’d arrived arm in arm with a bashful Mr. Templeton, displayed the slightest sign of planning trouble.

“Peabody, over here!”

When the two lookouts pivoted towards the sound, Peabody discovered Patty coming their way, chipper smile on her face as usual. The ivory canine involuntarily flinched at the similarity between the color scheme of Patty’s dress and her...’other self’ from the dream.

_Focus, focus, focus!_

He shook his head rough and quick before the blonde could catch his nonplussed expression. “Ah, Patty. Lovely as usual,” he suavely stated as he kissed the back of her hand.

Patty giggled before she caught sight of the cool-faced lady behind the genius. “Oh hi! I’m Patty Peterson! A friend of the family, I take it?”

Pearl merely shrugged. “More or less.”

“So what do you do?”

“Investigations.”

“Oh. What does that entail?”

“Looking at stuff.”

“Like...?”

“Miscellaneous.”

Patty, smile frozen and a touch nervous, sidled her eyes at Peabody, who gave a helpless look of sympathy in return. This had pretty much been how _his_ first encounter with the Hawaiian detective went, too; only difference: nobody had bullets flying at them.

A ruckus of laughter drew the adults’ attention to Jameson and the kids, the former sporting a smug grin while the other two bent over in hysterics at whatever the dog just said.

“Is that him?” Patty regarded the bright-smiled terrier with fond eyes, his demeanor appealing to her already.

“Ah, yes! Sherman’s new bodyguard!”

“Oh...”

Pearl made an interested face at the other woman’s tone, as well at how she seemed to slightly deflate at the answer. _Sounds like she was expecting a different answer._

Her sentiment did not go unshared. Peabody, too, blinked in wonder at why his friend sounded off guard. Before the two could ponder any further, Patty recovered with profuse apologies and blushing cheeks. “A-Anyway, he seems like a nice guy. The kids definitely like him!”

Peabody returned to a casual manner, smooth as silk. “Indeed, Jameson excels when dealing with children, though he tends to spend more time lazing around. You could even say he’s a real... _Bums_ ‘n burner.”

An instant groan inwardly echoed in Pearl’s head, the woman face-palming at the pun. Patty, meanwhile, snorted at the ‘hilarious’ joke, nearly as bent over as much as her daughter had been. And Peabody, in his typical dork-dad fashion, thumb-flicked the lapels of his tuxedo smug like he just solved the cure to the common cure.

Which he accomplished in childhood, by the way, _which_ made the simile all the more appropriate.

Then everything went black.

Screeches and murmurs and questions passed around in haste and shock, clinks and clatters of silverware dropped from guests and waiters alike lost in the dark twinkling hauntingly throughout the room—until an electronic whine spread through the air.

“Hello, everyone,” Eris’s voice resonated like a siren’s omen, “Now that all our guests have arrived, what’s say we finally get this party started?”


	9. Author's Note

To all my readers for this story,

I'm sorry but I have to put this story on hiatus for a while. I haven't been satisfied with the way the story's been going and how I've been depicting the characters. Especially when there are ways I could make the story better.

That's why I'm in the process of doing a rewrite for the chapters I've done. It'll take me a while because of school, but since now is summer, finding the time to do this shouldn't be too much of an issue.

Just hang in there, everybody.

~Signed, Mister Rat


End file.
